


he sings so nice (i guess he tries)

by judypoovey



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bronn Swears (ASoIaF), Diverging starting in s3/ASOS, F/F, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake Parent, Gen, M/M, Mentions of Sexual Assault, POV Multiple, a "becoming less of an asshole" arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 55
Words: 81,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25867933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judypoovey/pseuds/judypoovey
Summary: After a handful of prostitutes give Podrick Payne a free round, he comes back with a message from Ros about a young northern girl being kept in Lord Baelish's brothel. When Tyrion removes Jeyne Poole from Littlefinger's clutches the game of thrones shifts dramatically, and so does Bronn's place within it as he becomes responsible for a girl who refuses to believe he's as black-hearted as he claims to be.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Brienne of Tarth, Asha Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen, Bronn & Jeyne Poole, Bronn & Tyrion Lannister & Podrick Payne, Bronn (ASoIaF)/Ros (Game Of Thrones), Bronn/Tyrion Lannister, Jeyne Poole & Ros, Jeyne Poole & Sansa Stark, Jeyne Poole/Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow, Podrick Payne/Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Jeyne Poole, Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow
Comments: 131
Kudos: 104





	1. BRONN I

**Author's Note:**

> why am i writing another series spanning canon divergence fic? i just hate myself and have too much free time. if you haven't listened to fiona apple's new album, do. the title is from the title track, 'fetch the bolt cutters'. 
> 
> \-- there are some frank discussions of sex slavery and assault in here. nothing too graphic or descriptive, but it does get brought up, and i'll put notes on the chapters where it comes up.  
> \-- this is the second fic i've written where a major plot point of divergence is saving jeyne early on, and i'm fine with that. my best friend ~merrymegtargaryen wrote the magnum opus of the 'save jeyne' genre; "a song of ash and snow". they're much better at the huge divergence fics than me but i try!  
> \-- i think every day about how tyrion and bronn were somehow endgame in season 8 and now here we are. 
> 
> i love you all and love comments and kudos, and also you can follow me ~murraybaeman on tumblr.

It had been a funny thing, a kindness not extended to most lads, having their first tumble (or several tumbles, judging by the coins that Tyrion had passed to Pod, and the girls crowded around him) paid for by their boss. The look on Podrick's face would be enough to keep Bronn laughing all the way through the end of the War of Five Kings. Or Three Kings. Or however fucking many kings were left. 

So when Podrick came back, still looking as simple and quiet and nervous as he always did, Bronn was wondering if Tyrion's kindness had been misplaced. Perhaps he didn't go in for the lady type, or he was just too young to appreciate the generosity. 

He set the coins back down next to Tyrion. 

"They wouldn't take them, my lord," he said, haltingly, not sounded like a lad who had been thoroughly deflowered, though apparently he had been. 

Tyrion rapidly dismissed Bronn's questioning. No matter how much any whore had enjoyed their time with Bronn (and he liked to believe they had enjoyed it quite thoroughly, he at least tried not to be one of those cunts who didn't put in any effort just because they were paid to like it) they had never enjoyed it so much they'd refused  _ gold.  _

Something had to be up. 

"Currying favor, maybe?" Tyrion asked. Littlefinger was leaving the capitol, and the position of Master of Coin was the rare one that might actually impact their business, so it did make sense. But… 

Podrick looked increasingly uncomfortable.

"What did they want, Pod?" 

"Well, after…after we finished…" He cringed, even a good fuck wasn't enough to bolster this boy's confidence. "The...the redhead, Lady Ros?" 

"Just Ros, lad, she was a whore until two months ago," Bronn said, snorting. 

"Ros. She took me through the brothel, and there was this room in the back. The door was just barely opened, I don't think I was supposed to see…" He looked distressed. "There was a girl in there." 

"It's a brothel, lad, there's a girl in every room," Tyrion said, but there was a quiet sort of curiosity behind that sarcasm that one had to know Tyrion fairly well to pick up on. Bronn knew him well enough to know that he thought there was more to this. 

"She was...young, my lord," he said. " _ Very _ young."

It was an open secret that there were all types in Littlefinger's brothels. He did love to gloat of how he catered to every taste imaginable. Child was not as shocking as it could have been. Some people were just evil fuckers, after all. He'd dealt with his fair share of evil fuckers. 

"Podrick, I believe you're beginning to arrive somewhere in the vicinity of the point," Tyrion said, growing a little impatient with his squire's stammering.

"Give the lad a moment," Bronn said coarsely.

Podrick looked grateful. "Lady… Ros. Ros said that she knew that Lord Tyrion had a...a taste for Northern girls, if he'd like to meet this one," he said. "She said that she could arrange it for him." 

Tyrion almost looked appalled at the idea that Ros thought of him as a child fucker. Bronn met his gaze. Ros knew Tyrion. She had been saved by Tyrion when she'd been taken by Cersei. Was she trying to offer him some prime flesh as a thank you? 

No. Ros was a smart lass. This was different.

"Very well, Podrick. Thank you for telling me." 

Bronn knew two things. One) the ladies had given Pod a free tumble in order to ingratiate themselves to Tyrion, and two) Ros had wanted him to bring knowledge of a northern child back to them. 

It was one of those rare moments where Bronn figured something out before Tyrion. Something that didn't necessarily have to do with killing, that was. He tapped Tyrion on the arm and gestured to their faithful squire. 

"Ros organized a free roll with the girls so that you'd feel obligated to see this so-called Northern Girl," he said. Tyrion put down his wine goblet, contemplating this. 

Tyrion was a keen mind. The keenest in the world. As he unfolded the trap that Ros had set for them, he closed his eyes slowly, slumping back into his chair. "My father will hang any girl sent to me from a brothel," he said, and he thought most of Shae in that moment, but Bronn wasn't going to bring it up. 

"Then why would Ros --" 

"She doesn't know," he said, silencing Podrick with a hand. "But she knows…" He refilled everyone's goblets. "Podrick, my dear squire. On the morrow, you will take two messages. One to Ros, who will be told that Ser Bronn of the Blackwater has a  _ taste _ for young northerners," he said. "And that one must be sent to his quarters immediately. And it must be known that this is for  _ Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.  _ Not me." __

Bronn had not agreed to any sort of thing, but he supposed he didn't have a choice but to go along with Tyrion's schemes and plots, until he was paid better by someone with different schemes and plots. 

Podrick nodded. 

"A second message to Varys, that the Master of Coin wishes to speak with him privately. Go to Ros first. By that time, I believe Varys will anticipate your coming." 

Podrick nodded again, sipping his wine and clearly thinking very hard about the tasks that had been given to him. "I will, my lord." 

"Go get some rest, I'm sure those girls exhausted you in exchange for this great favor you're doing them," he said as Podrick finished his wine. "I'll see you when we break our fast in the morning."

The lad looked shocked at being dismissed so abruptly, but did as he was told, padding off to his quarters. Bronn stood up to leave as well, and Tyrion tutted. "Not you," he said. "What do you make of this?" he asked. 

"Either Ros has some kind of worry for this girl," he said, which felt like a safe choice. "Or Littlefinger is trying to get you and a few whores hanged by tempting you and having Lord Tywin find out. Make it easier to take back his job, maybe." Paranoid, perhaps? But Bronn hadn't lived as long as he had by not being a little paranoid, all things considered. Cersei had been scheming to kill Tyrion since he'd drawn his first breath, and her puppet king was no better, why should anyone on the small council have good intentions?

"I would like to believe it's the former," he said with a heavy sigh. "Not that I know what either of us could do for anyone, in our position." 

Bronn shrugged. "I guess we'll find out on the morrow." 

"Thank you," he said. 

Bronn blinked, looking at Tyrion over the edge of his cup. "What?" 

"I...volunteered you for this," he said. "And you took it gracefully. Thank you." 

"Never in all my days did I think a spoiled shit like you would be thanking me," he said, punching Tyrion gently on the shoulder.

"Don't get used to it," Tyrion muttered with a drunken sort of fondness. 

They finished off the wine before they both stumbled to bed. 


	2. JEYNE I

She didn't know how long she had been in Littlefinger's brothel. She didn't know what had happened, and didn't know if she'd ever leave. Her life was pain, all of it all the time. Men hurt her, Lord Baelish hurt her when she cried about that hurt. The other girls were kind when they could be, but some of them thought her spoiled and highborn, she could tell.

Ros was of the north, though, and she was kind. 

She missed her father. She missed Sansa. She even missed Arya, too. She wanted to go back to Winterfell, where they could stitch and play and tease Arya and coddle baby Rickon. But the men she saw whispered, too. Winterfell had been burnt down by the Greyjoys. She wept for Theon. How could he have _done_ this to them? What had happened?

Blackwater had been terrifying, a night of fearing and hoping that the city would fall. If Stannis could have prevailed...she could have escaped, maybe. Fallen to her knees in front of him and pleaded for mercy.

She knew the truth, though. Men were not courtly knights who protected children and ladies. They were monsters. She looked at them and felt nothing but fear. A lifetime ago, she had wished to marry a handsome Lord and have sons, and now she didn't want anything. She just wanted to be spared pain for one day. One fortnight.  _ Anything _ . 

There was no mercy in this horrible place. She was laying in bed, unable to rouse the strength to even get up to feed or clean herself. That's where Ros found her.

"My love," she said, soothing and quiet like a big sister, combing her fingers through Jeyne's hair. "You have to come with me."

"What?" she balked, her blotchy eyes widening. "Lord Baelish doesn't want me to leave the brothel," she said, tremulous. She was supposed to stay here, and she was too frightened of his wrath to disobey. She had tried to run away once, and had failed. She hadn't even gotten past the door. That was how pathetic she was.

"Don't argue, Jeyne. You have a customer in the Keep." 

Her stomach roiled. She hadn't eaten recently or she would have retched it all up at the mention of a customer. 

"Let's clean you up before you go," she said. 

With that, Jeyne was bathed and brushed, her hair braided the way she had done it in Winterfell, trying to emulate Lady Catelyn's northern style. She didn't know why Ros would do that. 

She wanted to scream and run. Slash her legs and make herself hideous. Cut off her nose.  _ Anything _ to escape this life. Even if Lord Baelish killed her for it.

But she didn't. She was good and she was obedient and she let Ros lead her up to the Red Keep. She didn't go far, but she found herself in someone's quarters.

"Are you leaving?" she asked in a high, frightened voice. She wanted Ros beside her. 

Ros took her face in her hand. "Jeyne. Be brave. This knight is...well. He's not what you're expecting, I swear it on the old gods and the new."

She sobbed. Ros pressed her lips to Jeyne's head and then left her alone. She tried to think of a way to arrange herself on the bed that hid her fear. If Lord Baelish heard she hadn't satisfied a customer, she would be whipped. She loosened the ties on her shift, letting it fall down around her shoulders.

The door opened and closed again. A lean man with a somewhat crooked nose and slicked back black hair looked at her with unmasked disgust in his face. She shrank onto the bed even more. It was not uncommon for men who found the very notion of whores disgusting to hire them. They were always the worst. 

"Girl."

"Yes, Ser?" She tried to lower her voice into that husky register she had heard Ros use with men. She walked over with a sway in her hips, grabbing his sleeve.

He grabbed her wrist and lifted her hand away from him, staring at her face for a long few minutes, not releasing her hand. 

He was going to be one of the men who beat her. She felt nothing but coldness when she looked into his eyes. He would throw her down and not even pretend he cared for her enjoyment. Some of them did try, but somehow that made it worse, because she still hated every moment. 

He brought a hand up to her face, holding her chin in place firmly. She closed her eyes. She didn't want to look.

"How old are you, girl?"

"16...Ser…" she lied.

"Girl. Look at me," he said again, his unpolished accent rough and terrifying. "How old are you?"

"14 on my last name day," she confessed as she looked into his eyes. He scared her, but maybe she dreamed a bit of softness in his gaze.

"Gods. What are you doing here?" he asked. "Sit down, girl."

"Yes, ser." She adjusted her shift, opening her legs slightly. 

The knight leveled her with an ugly look. "Keep your dress on, girl. I'm not fucking you."

"You're not?" she asked, daring to hope that he was being true.

"Ros wanted me to meet you, but I can't see why. Who are you? Tell me true, no one but me can hear you. I checked." 

Tears started to flow as she reknotted the ties on her shift, drawing her knees up to her chest. He leaned against the table across from her, watching her with his arms crossed, waiting for her to speak. She should lie, she told herself. She should lie. There were so many people she had pretended to be since she had been taken, at Littlefinger's behest. But he was glaring at her like he was looking right through her… 

"My name is Jeyne Poole," she said. It had been so long since she had said her name. "I'm from Winterfell. I came south with Lord Eddard, the daughter of his steward and a friend to his daughter Lady Sansa." Sobs were choking her. She couldn't do it. "After Lord Eddard was imprisoned I was taken away from Sansa...Lord Baelish said he was going to keep me safe until Lord Stark was released but he didn't. He  _ lied _ . Lord Eddard died and I became a prisoner."

Her face was swollen and red and disgusting. Baelish would whip her for this. He might even finally kill her. Maybe that's what she wanted. 

The knight was watching her with a quiet sort of disgust on his face. He wouldn't say it outright but she knew he was thinking of how hideous she must look. All of the lacquer she had put on her face was dripping off. 

He sat down next to her, pulling her to him with a strong arm around her shoulder. "Girl."

"Ser?"

"Do you know who I am?" 

She didn't. Maybe she had seen him through the cracked door of her room once, cuddling with the other girls. But she didn't know his name. "I'm sorry, ser, I don't." 

"I'm Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. I was Captain of the City Watch, and I'm a close personal friend to Lord Tyrion Lannister, the master of coin," he said. 

She froze. Lannisters. It had been a trap the whole time. Her sobs returned again, and he actually squeezed her tighter.

"I'm a powerful man," he continued. "Ros wants me to help you get out of Littlefinger's brothel. For good." 

Jeyne gasped. Baelish was testing her. Trying to see if she'd run given the chance. "I don't...Lord Baelish...has been...kind to me." She had already said too much. 

Ser Bronn snorted. "No, he hasn't."

She pulled back and gawked at Ser Bronn. "Ser...I cannot...I'll be beaten. I'll be killed."

"Jeyne." 

"I...Ser?"

"I  _ am _ taking you away from here. Just be patient. I need to speak with Ros and Lord Tyrion." He stood again. "You can sleep here tonight, if it please you. I can leave you to it. I have plenty of other beds that I can warm."

Jeyne felt cold. The room suddenly felt too large. Too cold. Too exposed. Being in here alone...what if the Lannisters came for her? Or Lord Baelish?

"Would you stay?" she asked. "To protect me?"

Ser Bronn looked at her, still fierce and scary, but she realized as he looked at her that she wasn't making him angry. He was angry  _ for  _ her. "Aye, girl. I can."

She curled up under the blankets and Bronn reclined in the chair, a dagger on his knees, close in hand. 

She almost feared to sleep. What if she was wrong to trust him? What if she woke up and he was…

Her fears eventually gave way to sleep, and she was never awoken by anything, until morning when the sun filtered through the curtains. She had slept well, and had been undisturbed. It had been so long since she had slept well. 

Ser Bronn was nowhere to be found, and her heart leapt in her chest. He had gone to find the Queen. It  _ had _ been a trick.

But when the door opened, it was Ser Bronn, but Ros was at his side, arm in arm with him. She beamed at Jeyne, and held her tight when she ran across the room into her arms.

"Ser Bronn took care of you, I trust?"

"He was kind," she said, wiping away tears of relief.

Ros leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Soon. Just hold on a little longer."

Her throat constricted. Bronn put a calloused hand on her shoulder. "Just keep your mouth shut and you'll be safe soon," he said. 

She nodded, and somehow even though she was going back to the seventh hell, she went with a lightness she hadn't felt in years. Maybe...maybe things would be fine. It had been years since she had felt something other than fear and pain. 


	3. ROS I

"Do you think it'll work?" she said, quietly. Even after months of working with Lord Varys, she still felt uneasy in his presence.

"I think giving the girl to Bronn and Lord Tyrion could help her, yes. And thwart whatever scheme Cersei was planning for her." Varys was inscrutable but Ros prided herself in understanding men and all of their imagined complexities. "And maybe...the truth will push our friend to action." 

Ros frowned. "Do you truly think so?" She knew better than to say anything explicitly, but she knew that Lord Varys thought Tyrion would be more use to the realm without his family. She shuddered at the thought of incurring Cersei's wrath again, but Tyrion had not forgotten about her, so it would not do for her to forget about him. 

"Maybe. He is so used to cruelty against himself that maybe it is cruelty against another that will make him understand. And worse still, mutterings from the small council. They mean to marry him to the Stark girl in order to secure the north," he said. "He doesn't know. Not yet."

Ros bit her lip. Sansa Stark was just as much a prisoner as Jeyne, but maybe in a kinder sort of prison. "Maybe it's for the best. If Tyrion is Sansa's husband...he could take her away without suspicion. Take Jeyne, too." 

Varys tutted. "As always, you're right. Sansa dreams of marrying a gallant knight like Ser Loras. But Willas Tyrell will not do." Varys tutted. "If Bronn takes Jeyne and Tyrion takes Sansa, the dear friends will be reunited, and the Lannisters may lose an advantage they believed they had, if Tyrion resists their schemes."

Ros nodded. "Bronn will take her. He's visited twice since he met her. Never touches her, just checks in when he calls on the other girls."

"When Joffrey spent his free time torturing Sansa Stark, Lord Tyrion and Ser Bronn were the only at court that tried to intervene. Tried to set him right. I suppose you'll remember their efforts in that regard." He sighed. 

Ros shook her head. That hadn't been their fault. Who could have known that Joffrey was more aroused by violence than by sex? One in a thousand boys had that sort of derangement. Daisy's bruises had recovered and she'd put it behind her. 

"Lord Varys, I do hope you're right. If you're not…" she sighed. The risks she was taking...it would hardly be worth it, but she couldn't stop herself. "I won't have a place at Littlefinger's side much longer."

"I know. If you suspect he knows, please come to me. Do not risk yourself. Littlefinger will not show you mercy."

Ros stood from her seat. "There is no mercy for whores, Lord Varys, trust that I'm used to it."

"Lord Baelish was looking for you," Daisy said when she returned to the brothel that afternoon. He was getting ready to leave, so he often had a need for her. It wasn't anything unusual. SHe felt confident that she and Varys were subtle when they met, it wasn't often, and more often she passed messages through little birds. Littlefinger was so preoccupied with trying to steal Sansa Stark…

He stood looking out the window, down into the city streets, framed by the afternoon light.

"Ros, I have a job for you tonight," he said.

"My lord, you're leaving on the morrow, shouldn't I be here to take care of things so you can focus on your trip?" she asked, her voice catching. Ros didn't see customers anymore, not after Joffrey had beaten her and the Queen had captured her. Littlefinger had seen her value in other avenues, or so he said. She knew that it was inevitable that she would see men again, but she thought she had more time. 

"No, I don't think I do," he said, his voice sharp and disapproving. "I think that a certain customer has a greater need for you than I do." 

"For the night?" 

When he turned to look at her, she saw in his gray eyes that he knew. He knew that she had been speaking with Varys, currying favors from Tyrion, pleading Sansa's safety with her handmaiden. He knew that she had been undermining him. That look on his face...he knew everything about her. 

Not for the night. 

"Dress yourself and at nightfall, the lads will escort you to the Keep. Make him happy," he said softly, stepping towards her and fiddling with the straps to her dress. "You've disappointed me, but...if you please him, I will be happy once again. You want to keep me happy, correct?"

"Of course, my lord. I will do my best to please him," she said. 

"Leave me, I must continue to pack." 

He put guards outside of her room, and she listened to them joke and breathe and shift in place for what felt like hours. Then she heard Daisy and Laila strike up a loud conversation with them. She listened for a few moments, and found the door unlocked, and Daisy leading one of the guards away from the door. 

Ros slipped towards the back of the brothel, and found Jeyne sitting in her room, alone as she always was. She grabbed her hand and dragged her away without even answering her question. "LIttlefinger knows," she said as they busted through Laila's room, and pushed a window open. It was a steep drop to the street below, but she wasn't going to let that stop them. 

Jeyne hesitated. 

"It's so high," she said. 

Ros climbed onto the ledge and then used decorative awning to lower herself and drop to the ground. "It's this or die," she said. Jeyne followed her lead, though her landing was much less graceful. Ros grabbed her and dragged her through the streets, running until they were a safe distance away from the brothel to catch her breath. 

"I'm sorry, sweetling. But he was going to kill me and then…" Then there would be no guarantee that Tyrion would keep his promise, she thought. She would have to go to Varys, but for now, she knew where to hide. 

The back entrance, for cooks and whores, was not well-guarded. The guards knew her on sight and let her through, and from there it was a quick climb. 

She picked the lock and settled down inside, holding tight to her trembling charge while they waited. Bronn arrived from supper an hour later, and looked shocked at the sight of them. 

"Littlefinger found out I was conspiring against him. I don't know how," she said. "I don't need to stay here long, just for the night. Varys will have a place for me." 

"Will he? Without your connection to Littlefinger, what use are you?" 

She hadn't considered that, and Bronn grinned sardonically. "You're safe with me. I don't think Littlefinger can afford me, if his records are anything to go by. Rest."


	4. BRONN II

Tyrion was whinging again. He was upset about this marriage his father was forcing him into. It was a better match than he would've gotten otherwise, even if she was young. 

He hadn't told Jeyne Poole about it, yet. She had been hiding in his chambers for a day now, alternating between terrified and overjoyed, waiting for Ros' return from meeting with Varys. He had decided she likely needed some time alone and some good wine. 

Tyrion worried and fretted as he always did. Shae was upset, as though she had ever been anything but a whore. He never got mad about his position in Tyrion's life, so he had never really understood why she always was.

She loved Sansa. Wanted to keep her safe. But she loved Tyrion and wanted to keep him to herself. She would be at war with herself if she didn't get a hold of the sentiment. 

Sentiment should never overtake money.

Tyrion had paid quite handsomely for his assistance with Jeyne Poole, and it was appealing. Keeping a sweet girl safe was a job befitting of a knight, and it came with a knight's pricetag. 

That was what it was, the gold. He brought her a few dresses so that she wasn't dressed like a whore any longer, and her tremulous smiles charmed him, as they would anyone. But really...he was being paid to do a job. 

"Can I go see her?" Jeyne asked. 

"Soon, I think," he said, not actually knowing. He flipped his dagger into his hand. "We'll need a story, though," he said. "Come here."

She eyed him apprehensively but obeyed. He stood behind her, gathering her hair in one hand and slashing across the back with the dagger. Her hair fell to her shoulders. It had been long and frayed, clearly the hair of someone being held hostage. She wasn't a hostage any longer, and she didn't need to look like one. 

"You're my daughter. Now that I'm successful, you've come to King's Landing to learn courtly ways with your mother, a seamstress from up White Harbor way."

She nodded along. "A good story, Ser." 

He examined her face, trying to think of a name. He wasn't a creative liar like Tyrion, so he wouldn't try and give her some fancy fake name he'd never remember. "Jenny," he said. "You'll be Jenny of the Blackwater now," he continued. "You know how to lie, I suppose? Baelish taught you that much, surely."

Jeyne cringed. "I can lie, Ser." She paused. " _ Father _ ."

  
  


Tyrion's wedding was a depressing affair from the very beginning. Cersei and Tywin smirked and strutted, and Sansa looked so frightened she might weep. He gave her a bow as Joffrey all but dragged her to the altar of the Sept. She looked lovely in spite of her misery.

Jeyne was waiting. On the morning, she would come in with Shae as a handmaiden to Sansa. 

During the feast, he drank and danced with the ladies of the court. Lollys Stokeworth had two left feet but she smiled sweetly and thought he was quite funny. 

He thought of cutting in with Sansa, since Tyrion seemed so utterly disinterested in her presence, but Joffrey had steered her away.

"Aren't you a treat?" a brittle voice said. The Queen of Thorns looked up at him, shrewd eyes taking up and down him like he was a piece of meat. He got the sense that most men were pieces of meat to a woman like that, and probably all the women she'd ever spawned. 

"I try my best, milady," he said.

"It's a shame," she said, but her eyes had drifted over to Sansa. "Keeping young girls prisoner. In my day, girls were allowed to grow up without being pulled and pawed at for politics."

"Weren't you trying to marry Lady Sansa off for politics?" he asked. 

"Yes, but she would have been safe at Highgarden, not subject to the whims of the Queen," she said, as if it were any different. "Girls got engaged and came of age under the care of their family, no matter how political the wedding was in my day." 

Still not seeing much of a difference, he knew he'd never understand these bleeding rich people, no matter how much of their money he got his hands on. 

Lady Margaery swept over to where they were speaking. She was a pretty one; a woman, not a little girl, with the same keenness behind her eyes that her grandmother took no care to hide. 

"Might a lowly knight have this dance, Lady Margaery?" he asked. She accepted gracefully, and danced beautifully. She pulled into his chest.

"You will look after her, won't you?" Her family had been interested in Sansa's claim, but there was a warm sincerity to her tone. Maybe she really did care for the girl, too. 

"Lord Tyrion is a good man, milady," he said. "He won't hurt her." They both looked over to Joffrey, who was starting to get agitated. She wasn't rising to his bait. She had hardened herself against Joffrey, and all it caused was more rage from the little cunt. 

"I didn't mean from Tyrion."

"As a knight in service to Lord Tyrion, it is my duty to keep all of his household safe," he rattled off, sounding gallant. It sounded gallant when money didn't enter into it. 

Joffrey was making a fuss about the bedding ceremony, and Tyrion, playing much drunker than he'd ever been, pulled her away from the wedding to spare both of them Joffrey's indignity. 

Margaery rubbed Bronn's arm. "I don't think my Kingly betrothed will be able to walk me to my chambers tonight, Ser, will you?" she asked. There was a sparkle in her eye that he liked as Tywin marched Joffrey off in the opposite direction. "It's not safe for a woman like me out there." 

He wondered what her game was. What she wanted from him, other than what she'd already asked of him. She wasn't rubbing his hand to compel him to defend Sansa. She expected a favor from him, in the end. Most all of them did. 

The Tyrells were staying in the Maidenvault, so perhaps it was ironic that he fucked Margaery Tyrell a few feet away in the privacy of an alcove. 

Bronn had to figure out what the play was. "What was that for?"

"Fun," she said, straightening her dress and suddenly looking as though nothing had ever happened. "I hope you'll think fondly of me should strife ever come between me and the masters you serve."

Bronn nodded, too cloudy and pleasure-tired to give much thought to what he was being asked. He should've told her he didn't serve any masters, but instead he just gallantly saw her to the bottom of the stairs and left. Cersei hated Margaery, it was true. Clearly she thought a good fuck was worth more than what Tyrion was paying him, if she needed someone to turn their cloak to save her own skin. 

On his way back to his own quarters in the Red Keep, he was unsurprised to find Shae. "Shae," he said. She of all people shouldn't be taking walks alone, but she was staring up at the stars, looking lonely. 

"Bronn."

" _ Ser _ Bronn," he corrected jokingly. All she did was roll her eyes. "You're angry at him, but you know he doesn't have a choice," he said.

"He had a choice. I asked him to run away after Blackwater," she said. "There's nothing in this city for him anymore. His father...his sister… They just want to kill him." Shae was not a woman of tears, she was a woman of clenched teeth and fists and anger, and that's why he liked her so much. "All that's left is the  _ game _ ."

"He loves the game," Bronn agreed. "More than anything or anyone."

"How many of us will die because of that?" she asked. "That little girl you brought to me…the redhead too."

"What about them?" he asked sharply. No need to speak of such things in the open.

"We're all just pawns." She stepped closer and grabbed him by the arm, her fingers digging in. "You know what they did to that child? Littlefinger and the Queen? Made her become a whore. Beat and raped her. The Queen tried to kill Tyrion more than once. His father will hang me for sharing his bed." She grabbed Bronn. "This city will eat him alive. All the good things I love about him. And the things you love too." 

"I don't love anything."

Shae narrowed her eyes. "Convince him to  _ leave _ . He listens to you. He can take Sansa and escape. Keep her away from his sister. Take her to her family. Or else they'll find a way to kill us  _ all  _ before long."

Bronn had never thought about leaving King's Landing. He broke apart from Shae and went to his room without answering her plea. Ros and Jeyne slept in his bed, and he sat down in the chair, dagger out. A nightly routine. He watched them for a while. Tyrion would never abandon the game, even at the cost of his own life...would he? 


	5. SANSA I

She awoke when the door to their rooms opened and Shae walked in. Her loyal handmaid seemed upset until she saw Tyrion sleeping at the end of the bed and her face softened. She had been worried for Sansa, but for naught. Even as drunk as he was, he had been kind to her. 

A girl followed behind Shae, timid and slouching. She was wearing a gray dress, her brown hair cut to her shoulders. She couldn't get a good look at her to start, and it made her feel wary. A new person around her...had she been sent by the queen?

Shae went about tidying the room, and the girl set up the table with some juice for breakfast. Sansa got up and began to dress. The girl looked at her, and her heart froze in her chest.

"Jeyne," she said, mouth dry. " _ Jeyne _ ?" The tears wouldn't stop, and she grabbed her long lost friend so tightly she thought she might break her in half. She felt so thin through the dress. "Is that really you?" 

"Sansa…" she stuttered. "I'm Jenny, now. Your new handmaiden. Jenny of the Blackwater, daughter to Ser Bronn."

She understood at once, turning to Tyrion where he was stumbling up from his sleep. Had he done this for her? Where had he found her?

"I...we have so much to discuss," she said. 

"Soon," Jeyne said. 

They broke their fast and as horrible as the night before had been, as much as being wed to Tyrion weighed on her, something was sparking inside of Sansa now, seeing her dearest friend in the world safe. She'd thought Jeyne was  _ dead _ .

Shae took Jenny by the hand. "We must leave man and wife for a while," she said, a little brittle and sarcastic. Sansa wished they didn't have to leave, but they did anyway.

"Did you do this?" she asked Tyrion.

"With some help from a few people," he said, his voice foggy as he squinted at her in the morning sunlight. "She... she will have much to tell you," he said. "It's not my place. But I hope you're happy." 

"It was the Queen... wasn't it?" She remembered Cersei having Jeyne taken away, a lifetime ago. She had hoped that she had just sent her back to the north. A stewards daughter meant nothing in the game of thrones. She had feared that she had simply killed her. But she was alive, and she was here with Sansa now. 

"And Lord Baelish," he said with a grimace.

Sansa closed her eyes. Maybe she would have wept for her friend when she'd had a heart, but now she's all iron. Cold. "I hate this city," she said quietly.

"The worst place in the world," he agreed, and she remembered the pain on Loras's face. He'd said the same thing. 

Sansa couldn't wait for the afternoon, where she might sit with Jeyne for a while. The day seemed to drag on. Tyrion had small council meetings, and once he had left, Shae and Jeyne returned, escorted by Ser Bronn. 

He left them at the door. 

Sansa had to hug her again. She couldn't imagine letting her go ever again. "Please tell me what happened to you," she said. 

"The Queen gave me to Littlefinger," she said. "He kept me in his brothel...he sold me to men...he whipped me…" She was crying into her hands now, all of it spilling out of her like she couldn't stop. "I begged him to set me free, but the Queen wanted to keep me near, if they  _ needed _ me."

Sansa felt cold. Lord Baelish had said he meant to keep her safe. That he'd loved her mother. He meant to take her away. And yet the whole time...he had been keeping Jeyne prisoner… If he truly loved Lady Catelyn, surely he would know how angry she would be at the idea of someone treating a young girl so poorly, right? What part of Sansa did he value that he didn't value in Jeyne?

Her claim. It always came back to it. 

"Ros...she's from the north...she helped me escape when Lord Baelish left the capitol."

And if Sansa had been foolish, she would have left with him. Ser Dontos had promised to take her away... but now she was wed and would never escape. 

Shae was slamming the lunch dishes into a pile to be taken and washed, the rage rolling off of her in waves. She wished she had cut his face off, certainly. That much was obvious. 

"I'll never let anyone touch you again," Sansa said, embracing her.

"No. Never again," Shae declared under her breath, a menacing promise. 

  
  


"My Lord," she said as they prepared for bed that evening. "Perhaps we could take a trip to Casterly Rock," she said haltingly.

"What?"

"A trip. You're my Lord Husband now, and I've never even seen your home. You've seen mine," she said. "It might do us well to leave the city. If the war isn't so dangerous." Who knows how long Robb would fight? Maybe he would set them free soon. "I heard them say, with Stannis defeated it's a matter of time…"

Tyrion was looking at her with a keen expression. He was clever, she knew, and everyone said she was a bad liar. She shifted.

"I don't believe the Queen will let us," he said sadly.

"The Queen  _ Regent _ ," she said before she could stop herself. "Soon Joffrey will be wed and she'll be the Dowager Queen." Her power wanes with every passing day. Tyrion of all people should have remembered that. 

Tyrion smiled. "You are quite clever." 

Sansa couldn't stop herself. "No, my Lord, I'm a stupid girl who never learns."

Tyrion refilled his wine. "As you say." 

"It would be nice to get out of the city," she said again, but she left it at that, and she had lost her appetite.


	6. BRONN III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who doesnt love a good fake marriage

Jeyne was eager to serve. Eager to please. She slipped her voice into an impression of Ros, sometimes, a habit he would have to break. She was not a whore, any longer.

While she served Sansa he saw less of her, but she stayed by his side otherwise, so while they had time, they walked the Keep. She was afraid, but he kept her tight by his side. He wanted people to see her with him. He thought it was funny, the looks on their faces. 

"Anyone who claims to recognize you must admit to buying a child at a brothel," he explained. "They won't shame themselves, so they'll keep it quiet." 

Jeyne played along, despite her fear, and with every day her back straightened and she seemed a little bit less afraid. He took note of all the men who seemed to recognize her. That could come in handy later. 

It didn't take long for word to reach the Queen. And it didn't take long for Meryn Fucking Trant to darken his doorway, announcing her imminent arrival.

"Ser Bronn."

"Your Grace."

Jeyne was glued to the far wall, her eyes not on Cersei but on Ser Meryn. He shooed her off and she disappeared into the adjoining room, slamming the door. 

"Who is this?" she asked.

"My daughter. Jenny of the Blackwater," he said. "I was wed many years ago. I sent for her and my wife when I was knighted," he said. "Now she's a handmaiden, learning the ways of the court."

Cersei raised a dark eyebrow. "She's not a steward's daughter from the north?"

"She's from up White Harbor way, but I have always been told I have a bit of a northern look."

"She's a  _ whore  _ from Littlefinger's brothel," Meryn said with an ugly look on his already ugly face. Another one for the list. Of course the Kingsguard who enjoyed beating girls begging on their knees would know.

"A girl of fourteen?" he asked, feigning offence. "How would you  _ know _ such a thing?" 

Cersei grimaced, but recovered and leaned in, the low neckline of her dress accentuating her shape as she touched his knee. "The girl was my  _ guest _ . I need her. You do want house Lannister to win this war, don't you?"

"Of course I do. I don't see how my darling little girl plays into that."

"How much is Tyrion paying you for this farce?" she said, her voice growing husky. "I'm sure it's a lot. He's always had a soft heart. I'm sure that whore he loves so much put him up to it," she said, casting a look at her guard. He nodded. "He might think he has all the gold in the world..."

Ser Meryn left the room.

"There are things even my brother can't give you, aren't there?" She was crouched forward, as if daring him to look at her tits.

Bronn stood up. He had already gotten his fill of Queens. The Tyrells were likely to pay better than Cersei for the favor they were waiting to ask him. "If I'm to believe you, you sold a highborn child to a brothel so she would be convenient to you if you needed her for the game of thrones," he said. "Scourged, whipped and raped. A girl hardly older than your own daughter."

"Do you find it so morally repugnant, Ser?" She stood up, bristling at the rejection. "I thought you were blackhearted cutthroat."

"Nothing is wrong, for the right price," he said. "Morals don't play into it."

"You've stolen something from me, you upjumped cutthroat. The fact that I'm offering you anything and not killing you where you stand is a generosity you shouldn't neglect." She was no longer cooing and seductive, but defiant and brassy. Dangerous. He regretted turning her down, but poured himself a glass of wine. Probably would have been a good fuck. 

"Discuss it with your Lord Father. Come to me with a price."

The Queen left, and Jeyne didn't reemerge.

He walked over and found her crouched, folded in over herself in the other room. He hunched down next to her. "Come on girl, time to go see Lady Sansa."

"You're going to sell me to Cersei. I heard you!"

"No, girl, I'm not," he said. "She won't come back."

The tears were out of control. The shaking fear had fully overtaken her, and he had to sit down next to her and let her ride out her loud, wailing sobs. He reached over once, and she shoved his hand away, so he just let her sob until she tired herself out. 

"Cersei doesn't scare me. She won't even be queen much longer," he continued. "I just told her what she wanted to hear so I didn't have to slit Meryn fucking Trant's throat and get his blood all over my chambers." 

"You should have." 

"What?"

"Slit his throat." 

"Should I have?" he asked with a chuckle, watching her brown eyes dangerously sparkling. 

"He was the worst one." 

"Someday, then." She was still crying a little, not entirely calmed down yet. "Do you know Jenny of Oldstones?" he asked. 

She nodded.

"It's why I picked the name," he continued. "It's a good song." 

"I'm not a very good singer," she told him. 

"Well, I am." He hadn't sung Jenny's Song in a long time, it was a strange one, to tell it true, but she seemed interested in hearing it, so he cleared his throat and started. " _ High in the halls of the kings who are gone _ …"

  
  


Ros returned to them that night. Jeyne was attending to Sansa, so they found themselves in bed together. He hadn't fucked her in a long time, and he wasn't truly thinking he'd start back. It just seemed like she wanted to be near someone. She'd had a close call with Littlefinger, and it seemed to have shaken her usually steely resolve. "It's harder to move freely as an honest woman," she admitted to him.

Bronn thought for a moment. She needed a reason to stay here in the Keep now that she no longer worked for Baelish. "What if you were my wife?" he asked. It had occurred to him when he made his story for Jeyne that he could include an unknown wife too. "The Lady of Blackwater would be free to use the Red Keep. You're my wife who has come to the city after I found my fortune with our daughter."

At first, she was overcome with laughter, but after a moment she grew stern again. "Darling, half the city recognizes me," she said. "They'll mock you for marrying a whore." 

"How many of these pompous shits would admit that they knew you from the brothel in front of their wives and lords?" he asked, pushing the curls out of her face as she grinned. "When I find a Lady with a Castle to marry, I can just set you aside. Knights can do that, you see."

She snorted. "This is quite a romantic proposal, Ser."

"I'm not much of a romantic, woman. But it will keep you and Jeyne close. And now you can't betray me or Lord Tyrion. You're a smart woman, consider it a business venture."

Ros gave his shoulder a gentle shove. "A partnership."

"It would give you a reason to be here so that Varys doesn't have you killed and thrown into the bay," he said.

Ros threw her arms around his neck. "They say you're a black hearted scoundrel," she said. "I don't think they know you very well."

"I'm as black-hearted as they come," he said, pulling her tighter. "If we're wedded, I don't have to  _ pay  _ you anymore."

She giggled, but kissed him anyway.


	7. JEYNE II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick chapter. i'm so very far ahead in this fic which is a nice feeling!!

Ros and Bronn were wed quickly and quietly by a suspiciously drunk Septon, with only Jeyne there to witness it. There was no cloaking or feast, just awkwardly muttered vows and a cask of wine sent from Lord Tyrion's stores. He hadn't even been able to attend, trapped at a small council meeting.

It was strange but Jeyne had long since realized that life was not a song. Valiant knights didn't marry their beautiful virginal ladies, tying their favor around their lances as they marched to war. People wedded and bedded and then bedded those they weren't wedded to. They died at war no matter how many ladies they courted favor from. She shouldn't expect to witness the marriage of two people who loved each other.

As they kissed in sight of gods and Jeyne, she thought it was nice that they at least seemed to be friends.

In the godswood the next day, Jeyne prayed for Robb's victory. She hadn't been allowed access to a godswood for so  _ long _ . She prayed for Robb, and she prayed to keep Sansa safe, and Ros too. Even Bronn. She felt like the old gods had forgotten her down here, so she tried to pray as loudly as she could. The wind rustled. Maybe they heard her.

Beside her, Sansa prayed too, and she didn't say what she prayed for, but Jeyne thought she prayed for Robb, too. And Lady Catelyn.

Jeyne missed Winterfell so much she ached. Septa Mordane and Maester Luwin and baby Rickon. She missed Hodor, even though he smelled of the stables, and she missed hearing Theon and Jon and Robb laugh in the courtyard as they trained, and the delighted confusion of Arya taking up a bow.

Sansa said Arya was dead, and her heart hurt even more. Little Arya Horseface. A long time ago, Jeyne had been unkind, and if it would bring Arya back, she would fall to her knees and apologize for every cruel thing she said, and never expect anything in kind. They had not gotten along, and she knew that there was nothing unusual about that, but she felt shame for it all the same.

The trees rustled, and Jeyne saw a man peering through the shrubbery at her.

She grabbed Sansa. "Sansa. A man is watching us." She found now that she was out in the world, she seemed to catch onto things more. Her captivity had sharpened her eye, and now she was aware of people around her. 

Sansa startled, but relaxed when she caught sight of the man. "Ser Dontos, you can come out. This is my trusted friend," she said.

A round, dark-haired man came out of the bushes, stinking of wine and dressed in fool's motley. "Jonquil, you know we're meant to meet alone…"

Jeyne didn't hear much else as this so-called Ser Dontos stuttered. She recognized him, but couldn't place from where. He had not been a fool in the Red Keep when she had been there as a steward's daughter....

"If you meant to take me away, you must take Jenny as well," Sansa was saying, and Jeyne was relieved to not hear her true name. 

"I don't...I'm not…" he stammered, looking aggrieved. "I believe it can be done, sweet Lady."

Jeyne realized where she recognized him as he disappeared through the trees, and she grabbed Sansa's arm tightly. "We cannot go with him," she said.

"Do you mean for us to stay in King's Landing? Even with Lord Tyrion's protection, Cersei will take you away again," Sansa said, impassioned.

"Yes but...he is a friend of Littlefinger's. I saw him through the cracks in my door one time at the brothel, speaking to Lord Baelish about a lady and a favor," she said. "I don't think we should trust this Ser Dontos."

"Half the city visits Littlefinger's brothel, Jeyne. That does not prove he means to betray me," she said, but her eyes shone with doubt.

Jeyne didn't say anything else, and they walked back to the Keep. She helped Sansa bathe and then returned to Bronn's chambers after supper.

"Ros," she said, relieved that she was in the room. She came and went often, and Jeyne was keen for her advice. "Do you ever recall seeing a Ser Dontos in the brothel? He's a fool in the Keep..." she asked, hesitantly. "Not with girls, speaking with Lord Baelish."

"I'm not sure, Lord Baelish was very secretive. Why?"

Jeyne frowned. She would be betraying Sansa if she told her secret, but they wouldn't be safe if Littlefinger was trying to take her away… Sansa didn't understand the kinds of things he would do...

"It's...I should speak with Ser Bronn," she said, hugging her knees to her chest, her heart aching, knowing what she had to do to keep her friend safe.

Bronn returned late, though thankfully not drunk. When he was drunk, he was crass and dismissive, and she felt like she was speaking to the wind, instead of a man. 

"Ser, I need to speak with you about Lady Sansa," she said, before he could tell her it was too late for her to be awake and all of the boring things he liked to say when he wanted her to leave so he could fuck Ros. "I think Littlefinger is trying to steal her away." 


	8. ROS II

Ros hadn't had any trouble finding a drunk fool in the Red Keep. It was frankly hard to avoid them. She smiled and touched Ser Dontos on the arm and led him away after supper with little fanfare.

He barely registered when Bronn snapped the door closed behind him as he stumbled into the room, his eyes taking her in hungrily through the fabric of her dress. 

His smile melted away like a summer snow. "I don't…"

"My knightly husband has a few questions for you," she said with a smile, no longer having to maintain the demure attitude. 

He looked horrified at Bronn. "Ser I didn't know. She…I wasn't..."

"And you didn't think it odd a beautiful woman wanted something to do with a fucker like you?" he asked, cocking his head to the side, putting a strong hand on Dontos's shoulder. "Now I'd like you to tell me who you're working for."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, which was a valiant attempt at bravery. 

Bronn pulled a dagger out from behind his back. "Which finger knows? Your little one? Or your thumb?"

"Littlefinger," he said immediately, stumbling into it without even a conscious thought.

"I think he wants you to remove his little finger, husband," she said, delighted. 

Dontos sputtered. "I'm working for Littlefinger!" he said. "He paid me to keep an eye on the Stark girl! He told me he wanted to keep her safe, that's all!" he wailed. 

"Keep her  _ safe _ ?"

"He means to take her away from the city! He told me I'd know when the time was right, and we'd flee King's Landing! He would pay me to help her escape unnoticed!" The tip of Bronn's dagger was gently digging into Dontos's little finger, and he was terrified to move. 

Ros had known that, but she'd believed that Sansa's marriage had set those plans aside. To know that he was still scheming to get her away from the city… to what end? What use could he have of her in the Vale? And what good was betraying the Lannisters after they'd given him so much?

"Did he tell you anything else? Before he left the city?" she asked.

"He told me that if a brown haired girl joined Sansa that she was to come too."

Ros sighed. He knew and he wanted Jeyne back too. Of course. Was there no thwarting this man? He only wanted Jeyne to spite her, she felt it in her bones. 

Bronn's eyes flashed as he realized what Dontos was saying, digging his knife in harder almost involuntarily. "And what was to be your reward for this?" he asked.

"200 dragons," he stuttered.

Bronn shook his head. "You will  _ not  _ be taking those girls from the city." He was weighing his options. "Beloved wife, should I kill him and make this simple? Send a nice loud message to Lord Baelish?"

Ros thought it over. It would be so easy, and the girls would never have to know… They could throw him into Blackwater Bay and be rid of him. Even as he blubbered and begged, she thought of what he would have done. He would have sold Sansa for some gold and she thought he cared for her. He would have given Jeyne back to a beast without question.

"Not in here, my love. You'll get the sheets bloody," she said, grinning at Dontos's stuttering horror as Bronn hauled him out of his seat and dragged him from the room. 

She woke up late, vaguely aware that Jeyne had not returned from Sansa's. Perhaps she was sleeping there tonight. Sometimes when Lord Tyrion was kept late in a small council meeting, Jeyne would stay the whole night, so that Sansa did not feel lonely. 

Bronn was beside her, though, warm and unharmed. Not that she had worried for him. He could certainly handle some blubbering drunk. 

"Ser Dontos?" 

"I put his head in a box and shipped it to Littlefinger. Thought it would send a nice loud message," he said with a smug smile. 

"You've kept our daughter safe another day," she said with a cheeky grin.

"She's not our fucking daughter, woman," he said, rolling his eyes.

She rolled onto her elbows, nudging up close to him and propping her chin on her hand. "She doesn't look anything like either of us, it's true," she said. "What do you think Littlefinger wanted with her?"

"Cersei had some scheme, I'm sure."

"But what?"

"She's a brown haired northerner. There are a million of those…" He stopped. "Sansa had a sister, yes?"

"She did. Arya. Younger by a year or two. Brown haired. I think I caught sight of her one time when I snuck into Winterfell to see one of the lads there." Ros fancied herself a keen woman. "...you don't think they thought they could pass  _ Jeyne  _ off as Arya, do you?"

"Why would they, if they had Sansa?"

"Telling King Robb they had both of his sisters would be more powerful than just one," she said. "Maybe that's it. Or not. Maybe Cersei is just a cruel bitch who wants to destroy everyone sweet and good in the world."

"Well, that's definitely true," he said. "Are you going to be able to sleep?" 

"I don't think so."

He grabbed her and, well, his lady wife couldn't very well tell him no, could she?

  
  


Jeyne came back in the morning, and they were still abed. Ros grabbed for her dress and froze when she saw Jeyne's swollen red eyes, her hair loose and disheveled. Her show of modesty was forgotten at Jeyne's obvious distress. 

"They killed him!" she said, before Ros could even ask what was wrong.

How could they have found out so quickly? Bronn was supposed to be  _ good  _ at this. She slapped him awake and finished putting her dress on before walking over and grabbing Jeyne's arms where she seemed liable to dig her nails into her own skin. 

"Who? Jeyne? Who did they kill?" she asked. Certainly Jeyne couldn't care a fig for Dontos Hollard. She had been the one to tell them about the threat. And how would they even know? Something had must have happened. Had something happened to Tyrion? 

Bronn was bleary eyed, trying to dress under the blankets, only modest in the wake of how upset Jeyne was. 

"Robb," she finally gasped out. "The Lannisters killed King Robb and Lady Catelyn."


	9. BRONN IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this week on "what if characters communicated bluntly"

He wasn't surprised that Jeyne didn't want anything to do with him for a few days, but somehow her angry distance still bothered him. He was a Lannister man, and the Lannisters had killed the Starks. 

But he had saved Jeyne from Littlefinger, and she still hid behind doors when he walked by.  _ He  _ hadn't killed the fucking Stark boy. Sansa was inconsolable, to hear Tyrion tell it. She didn't eat, she didn't speak, except to Jeyne, and a little to Shae. 

That was war, he thought. They were young, they'd get over it. People died. More people he'd cared about had died than he could count. After a while, it becomes noise. 

"I don't know what to do," Tyrion said.

He picked at his nails with the tip of his dagger. "Tyrion, you can't unmurder her mother and brother. I don't understand why you're so obsessed with people liking you." 

"She's my  _ wife _ ."

"Don't mean she has to like you," he pointed out. 

"So I should just do as I please and not care for her happiness at all?" He demanded.

"What's her happiness got to do with you? Do you think Robert Baratheon ever gave a shit about your sister's happiness?"

"Not the best example, since she murdered him."

Bronn groaned in frustration. "Fuck, Tyrion. I'm not saying you should treat her badly. I'm just saying if you sit here lamenting every person who doesn't like you, you won't need to worry about her specifically because you'll sit here til you die." 

Tyrion was frustrated too. They simmered in irritated silence until the door opened and Podrick let Varys inside. He was disguised, as he often was, with his fake beard and the musty scent so unlike him, but Bronn had learned to recognize him.

"My Lord, Ser Bronn," he said, a short little bow. 

"What do you want, Varys?" Tyrion asked. 

Varys sat down and helped himself to their wine. "I have a proposal for you," he said, the soft, mincing quality of his voice shifting immediately into this familiar blunt, businesslike tone. Varys loved to play coy, and that was part of what made Bronn uneasy about him. He had never spent a lot of time focusing on pretense, so seeing someone who was  _ all  _ pretense was...unnerving. 

"Littlefinger still means to remove Sansa Stark from the city. To what end, I do not know," he said. "Furthermore, he seems willing to snatch Jeyne Poole back from you as well. Whether to return her to her life of slavery," he said the word so bluntly that Bronn saw Tyrion cringe. "Or to use her for whatever scheme that Cersei had planned for her, I still have not learned."

"Aren't you meant to know everything?" Bronn asked.

"Hence my frustration," Varys agreed. "I do not want to submit those girls to Littlefinger's schemes." 

"How sentimental of you." 

Varys rolled his eyes. "They're innocent, I grant you, but I fear more what Littlefinger would gain with them. Ros thinks that Cersei may have meant to pass Poole off as the other Stark sister," he said. "If Littlefinger takes Sansa, he has the Vale and the eldest trueborn Stark in his hand. If he takes both girls, he has two. He could offer a marriage to any house who might want to leverage while the north is in chaos. This must not happen." 

"If Littlefinger takes the girls from the city, my sister will hunt him down." 

Varys looked at Tyrion disbelievingly. "Yes, my lord, but is it any better for your sister to have them? You are the presumptive Lord of Winterfell with Robb Stark leaving no issue, your sons will rule the north." The ironic twist to his lips indicated that he knew that Tyrion had not borne much success in bedding the northern girl. "If she gives a fake Arya Stark to the Boltons, one who looks northern enough to pass and knows enough of life within the walls of Winterfell to withstand scrutiny from Lords who couldn't tell Arya Stark from a hole in the ground, their rule of the north is legitimized." 

Tyrion was growing impatient, refilling his wine and looking to Bronn with a tired expression. "The point, Lord Varys. I know you have one." 

"The Boltons will not surrender the north to you and Sansa should you succeed in impregnating her and ride north. Roose Bolton betrayed his king once, and his son... No one cares to mention him in the light, even my little birds in the north. He will take Winterfell, marry his son to a fake Arya and the Lannisters will not be able to retake the north come winter. Your sister and father have fallen neatly into a trap, and they mean to serve you up as the bait."

Tyrion rubbed his beard. "Well, then perhaps you should take these concerns directly to Lord Tywin and he can handle the Boltons  _ before _ Winter arrives."

"This is all speculation, my lord. Even your lord father isn't so wrathful as to react purely on speculation," he said, smirking. "And if Littlefinger were to take Sansa...or even Jeyne...he would have something to offer the Boltons. The might of the Vale, plus true northern lords, not southern invaders. And what, pray tell, do you think Littlefinger will do to you in order to invalidate your marriage to Lady Sansa?" 

So he had arrived at his point. Bronn thought he was keen to talk it up as he did. Tyrion liked talkers, and it helped him think to listen to clever men blather on. It was hard to say how much of this was truly going to come to pass and how much of this was just Varys considering every option for Littlefinger's intentions. 

"Bronn, if Littlefinger comes to kill me, stop him, all right?" Tyrion jested.

Varys's nostrils flared as Bronn chuckled. "You have a bigger part in the preservation of this realm than you could possibly know, Lord Tyrion. Send Sansa Stark and Jeyne Poole out of Littlefinger's reach, and Cersei's as well. Concoct an easy lie for your sister to latch onto. Without a northern girl, neither Littlefinger nor Roose Bolton will have the advantage to rise up against your family, and the realm might be unified enough to resist any further attacks by Stannis Baratheon and his witch. The Greyjoy heir is missing, and Stannis has departed Dragonstone with little indication of a goal. The male Stark line ends with a bastard boy and a daughter. Dispense of the politicking by removing them from the game board, so that the realm might know peace for a while." 

Tyrion looked at Bronn again, and Bronn knew him well enough to know he was truly weighing the options. Sansa and Jeyne were miserable within the city, and if Cersei used them the way she intended to, it would backfire and ruin the Lannisters, or it would destroy the girls. Either way, he didn't feel like he could abide it. Tyrion either had to impregnate his child bride as soon as he could to ensure that Littlefinger couldn't marry her off again before his corpse was cold, or…

Or he could send them away. 

"Where? Casterly Rock?" 

"No, my lord. They must be out of reach entirely, and well guarded. I could arrange for them to stay across the narrow sea, for a time. They could live as rich, comfortable women until…" 

Until Cersei Lannister was dead, and therefore no longer able to hunt them. But he didn't say that. 

"Well, for as long as they wanted, I suppose." 

"Ser Bronn," he said, in the voice he always used when he was about to ask for something. "How much would it cost for you to take a short vacation in Pentos with your lovely wife and daughter?"

He grinned. "Double." 


	10. SANSA II

Her stomach felt like a rock weighing her down. Eating was torture, sleeping was plagued with nightmare flashes. Her mother floated in the river, bloodless and bloated. 

Her eyes snapped open as Sansa startled awake. She saw them every night, her brother with Grey Wind's head sewn over his own. Her mother with deep gouges like bloody tears under her eyes. Fires burning, her uncle, who in her mind's eye was just Robb again, locked away. 

Her family was gone. Jon was the last male Stark, bastard born and sworn to the Watch. She was Robb's heir, and she was married to a  _ Lannister _ . Tyrion had given her a wide berth since what the smallfolk now called the Red Wedding, and for that she was grateful. Even as kind as he had been, she hated the sight of him nearly as much as she hated the sight of Joffrey and the Queen. 

He allowed Jeyne to stay in her chamber at night, now, and her warm presence next to her in bed was the only thing that seemed to soothe her to sleep. 

She had visited the godswood thrice since she'd learned of her family, and Dontos wasn't there. He had always been inconsistent about his appearances, but after the third time she grew worried. She told Jeyne as much, and a quiet, strange look passed over her oldest friend's face. She hadn't trusted him, Sansa knew.

Things were different between them now. No longer giggling, stitching and eating lemon cakes. They sat in sullen silences, and made cruel jests about people that had wronged them. Sansa still counted Jeyne as her dearest confidant, but they had both changed so much in the year since they had seen each other. 

"Maybe he got scared after your family died," she said sadly. "Maybe there was no one to take you back to so he gave up." 

Sansa nodded, looking out the window sadly. He had been a drunk and a fool, often trying to steal kisses from her, but at least he'd wanted to take her away. She didn't know what to do with herself now. 

Podrick Payne entered the chamber with Shae, looking pale and nervous, though he usually looked nervous, so that was hardly worth noting. He stuttered a bit, in an endearing way. She'd heard Cersei call him simple before, but he'd spoken to her very little, so she couldn't say if the Queen had the right of it. The Queen had thought Sansa simple, too. 

"My ladies, I- I'm to help you…" He trailed off, and Shae gave him an encouraging nudge. "I'm here to help you pack," he managed. 

"Pack?" 

Sansa's heart fluttered, remembering when she had suggested to Tyrion that they could leave the capitol. Perhaps they would go to Casterly Rock, far away from Queen Cersei and Lord Tywin. Even if she was still in the hands of the Lannisters...not having to look at Joffrey's face would be such a blessing. 

"We're leaving," Shae said bluntly. "Pack your things. Not too much. Just what you can't live without." 

Sansa had found she could live without a great many things, but she packed away the doll her father had bought her, the dress the Tyrells had made for her, and a few jewels and stray things. Podrick seemed to be removing even more items from the room, and it felt… odd. 

"Are we stealing these things, Podrick?" she asked him as he dumped a golden candlestick into a large bag. 

Podrick looked very guilty indeed. "N-no...my lady...of course not." 

"Where is it we're going?" Jeyne asked.

Podrick turned bright red and looked to Shae as if silently asking for help. She smiled and shook her head. 

"It is a surprise," she said. "But we leave after supper. Tell no one!" 

"Should we go?" Sansa asked. 

Jeyne bit her lip. "I…don't know, Lady Sansa." She wanted to leave King's Landing even more than Sansa did, and they both knew it. "If your Lord Husband commands it, we should follow his orders," she settled on. She had even fewer possessions than Sansa; a few dresses that Sansa herself had outgrown, plus one or two that Bronn had brought her when she'd had nothing to wear. She was already done packing and helping Shae with her own things. Neither of them had much. 

"Podrick, tell Lord Tyrion we'll be ready to leave after supper," Sansa said, trying to feel confident that she was making the right choice. She thought of the last time she had learned of someone trying to spirit her away...she had gone to the Queen and told on her father...and it had gotten him killed, no matter how sweetly Joffrey had promised her mercy.

She would  _ not _ miss another opportunity to leave this city. 

The little merchant ship had a mermaid baring her breasts on the sail, and the Captain was a fat, jovial man with a green forked beard. Bronn paid him with a large sack of coins. "You and Jeyne will share a cabin," he said.

"You're coming with us, Ser?" 

"Just to make sure you get settled safely," he said.

Jeyne looked relieved, and Sansa could admit that she felt a little safer with Bronn and Shae on board with them, in case Cersei came after them. 


	11. JEYNE III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know that scene in Into the Spider-Verse where Miles is trying to make Peter B feel guilty and Peter screams into his sleeve? That's Bronn in this chapter.

Jeyne found many things about the boat ride suspicious. Lord Tyrion was not on the boat. Bronn, Shae and Ros were there, which was enough to provide Jeyne a bit of security, but Lord Tyrion's absence was noticeable. 

"Ser Bronn, where is it we're going?" she asked, her eyes trained on the cabin boy mopping the deck a few feet away. 

"Making port in Pentos, and then on to Volantis," he said. "If the seas are smooth, it won't be much longer." He was playing with one of his knives, looking across the water.

"Can I have one?" she asked. 

"What?" 

"One of these," she said, reaching for the knife. He flipped it over so that the handle faced her, and she took it gently. "What do I do?" 

"Stick 'em with the pointy end," he said, and she chuckled. He took off something from his belt and handed it over; it was a leather sheath for the dagger in her hand. Her heart thrummed, but she felt powerful as she cinched the sheath onto the inner pocket of her traveling cloak. She would learn to use it and she would never be undefended again. 

The cabin boy had disappeared from the deck, and she walked carefully towards the edge, to look over at the sea. She had never been on a boat before, but it didn't seem to bother her. Sansa was a little green around the edges, but she had been pale since Robb had died. 

Her heart ached for Lady Catelyn and Robb. He had been so young, freshly wed, a handsome, gallant king...and they had slaughtered and desecrated him, and Lady Catelyn too. She had been a warm mother and a capable wife, always kind to Jeyne. They hadn't deserved that.

It was a relief to be away from the Lannisters, even one as kind as Lord Tyrion. The Queen would not send her back to the brothel, and they wouldn't use her for whatever malevolent schemes she'd hatched. And Ros was safe from men who pay to beat women or kill women. Sansa would not be a pawn in the game, her claim to Winterfell would be far away from Lord Tywin and the Boltons. 

Jeyne could sing. They could be  _ free _ !

"Lord Tyrion is not joining us?" 

"No. He has duties in the small council. I'm only coming for a few weeks to settle you in and make sure it's safe," he said. 

Her heart sank. "You aren't staying?"

Bronn regarded her sympathetically, but with a slight smirk. "No, girl. I'm a sellsword, not a childminder," he said. "Once we know that you're safe on the road to Braavos, I'll be returning to King's Landing to serve my knightly vows." 

Jeyne thought about pleading for him to stay. How would they be safe? Shae and Ros were capable women, but still women, and that was dangerous on the road. Any guard they might hire...could they be trusted? She had only just begun to trust Bronn to not touch her, and yet he was abandoning them. "I wish you would stay with us."

"I'll be able to come back when Tyrion's position is more secure. It's not terribly far by ship," he said. 

"Braavos?" 

Or Volantis? 

"No, not far at all," he said, narrowing his eyes at her. 

He was lying about where they were going, and despite this ship being funded by Lord Tyrion, he wasn't with them? They didn't trust anyone on this ship, and yet they were at their mercy until they arrived in Pentos. 

Jeyne had learned little and less from asking Bronn about this plan, and excused herself to join Sansa below. Shae was rubbing her back as she laid in bed, looking unhappy. 

"It's supposed to be smoother in the morning, the captain says," she said as she sat down next to Shae. The dark-haired woman was fierce and loyal to Sansa, but Jeyne was surprised she was willing to leave Tyrion. Sansa might not had realized but it was clear that Shae loved Lord Tyrion. Maybe she was in danger in the city too, and she just hadn't told anyone.

It was no featherbed, but the cot was comfortable enough for the two of them to huddle together and sleep without too much issue. That morning, the sea was calmer, and Sansa felt well enough to walk the deck. She kept her hair tied back tightly, and covered with a scarf. It was distinct, even in the Free Cities, and she worried about being found before they found freedom. 

Bronn was scowling at the sailors, making jests with Ros and Shae, and stalking about. Jeyne approached them after a lunch of dried, chewy apricots and a few handfuls of nuts. 

"I want to learn," she said, holding the dagger out to him. 

He jumped back slightly at the sight of the blade. "Well, first lesson, girl, is not to hold the blade out to anyone you don't mean to stab," he said, taking it gingerly and showing her how to hold it. 

"Maybe I meant to stab you," she said with a giggle. 

"Stabbed by a woman is how I expect to go," he admitted, but she corrected how she held it, and held it out to him again. He took it and held it up. "It's balanced, right?"

Jeyne nodded. 

"So, if you're not strong," he said. "Well, not physically strong," he corrected with a wry smirk. "Go for the throat. Or in between these ribs." He touched the spot on his own leather armor. "Usually fuckers in full plate will have gaps so that they can move. Always aim for the gaps." 

"I don't think I'll be stabbing many men in armor," she said. Men were usually naked when they were at their worst. 

"Then you've got your pick, but the throat is easiest, unless you want to take their cock off, which is always an option." He swished the knife easily, and flipped it in his hand, catching it without even a pause. "Don't try to do nothing fancy. Practice with a spoon if you feel the urge."

Jeyne nodded, taking the dagger back from him and putting it back in her cloak. "Without you around to protect me, I suppose I'll have to do it myself." 

Bronn rolled his eyes. "Girl, you've survived a long fucking time without me, you'll survive after I'm gone, too," he told her roughly. 

She kept looking at him, her eyebrows raised and soft, her lips in a pout. 

"Are you trying to make me feel guilty?" 

"Is it working?" 

"No.  _ Stop it _ ," he said, walking away. He paused and made a pained noise of frustration. "Girl. I swear. You'll be safer in Myr than you'd ever be with me." 


	12. BRONN V

They arrived in Pentos on schedule, near midnight, another bag of gold waiting for the Captain's silence. A fat eunuch in a patterned vest greeted them at the dock. As he expected, he said little of where they were going as they were loaded into a carriage. 

Sansa and Jeyne struggled to see the sights of the city in the darkness, but the colorful lit lamps illuminated it enough. They would be seeing so much of Pentos they were like to get sick of it before long, but for now they regarded it with open wonder. Ros was trying to seem above it all, but she was looking too. He and Shae were content to pretend to sleep. Both of them had seen their fair share of the Cities, he expected. 

They arrived at their destination, shrouded in secrecy though it was, not long after, a grand manse overlooking the city. Illyrio Mopatis was awake, despite the late hour, expecting their arrival. 

He was a great fat thing, a faint stink of sweat rolling off of him even through a cloud of oily perfume. He greeted them warmly, but didn't force them to linger in his company. They had a wing of his manse to themselves, and as he took in the girls' tired faces, he smiled fondly and another one of his eunuch guards showed them the way. 

His slave girls offered to draw baths for Sansa and Jeyne, but they refused, despite being salt splattered and less fresh smelling than a lady should be. For his part, he found a sufficiently large room and laid down on the soft cushions that passed for a bed in this place. He was surprised when Ros joined him.

"Has Lord Varys told you anything about him?" he asked her, looping his thumb under the collar of her dress. 

"Never mentioned him until he told me this was where we were going," she said. She seemed irritated by this. 

"You didn't actually think you were some great confidant of Varys's, did you? No one is," he said. He kissed her shoulder and she turned to narrow her eyes at him.

"How can you be thinking of fucking in a place like this?" she asked. 

"I've fucked in much worse places," he said. "There was this whorehouse in Tyrosh...." 

She pushed him away and he gave up. "Illyrio is watching us, make no mistake."

"Then we should make it good for him," he said. That at least got a laugh from her, even as she pushed him away.

"I don't work for Lord Varys expecting him to tell me everything, but a place like this… I do wonder about his intentions." She covered herself in a thin blanket and laid down. "Why does the Master of Whispers in Westeros need to be friends with a Pentoshi cheesemonger?" 

"Plenty of reasons, I'm sure. Maybe he makes good fucking cheese."

Ros rolled her eyes at him. "Goodnight, husband."

"'Night, wife," he said, wondering if it was early enough to go see what Illyrio's servants were willing to do. 

Instead, he fell asleep. He was getting fucking old. 

They broke their fast privately that morning, a eunuch with decent common tongue telling them that the Magister had important business, but he would join them at midday. 

Fruit, creamy cheese and little pastries lined the table, and Sansa and Jeyne were delighted. Once they'd had their fill, they sat quietly, and it seemed like they were at peace for the first time in a long time. 

"Are we leaving?" Jeyne asked. 

"What?"

"You told me once we'd be going to Myr. Another time you said Braavos. Then Volantis. And I heard you tell the cabin boy Lys. So…" 

"He was lying," Sansa said, looking at him shrewdly. "He said a different place so when the ship Captain tells Cersei he took us, he won't know where we ended up." 

"Lord Tyrion got the idea from your mother," he said. "When she took him captive, she spent a good bit of time telling everyone they'd be going to Winterfell. Hell, even I believed her til we got halfway down the eastern road and realized we'd been riding towards the Vale the whole time." He paused and took in Sansa's face. She was proud, but the grief was still fresh. Bronn had never felt true grief before, or at least not in a long time. He wasn't sure what to say. "Your mother was a smart woman, a real she-wolf. Don't matter that she was born a fish, she was more of the north than half the men I've faced in battle. A lot like you," he said, but then he excused himself and let Ros and Shae focus on entertaining the young ladies for a bit.

"Ser Bronn," a voice said. He had not given a thought to giving a fake name to the Magister. A Knight could go where he pleased, and taking his wife and child on a holiday was nothing unusual.

"Magister Illyrio," he said. 

"I do not mind helping my dear friend Varys when I can, but how long do you plan to stay?" He paused. "I'm not trying to remove you, my friend. Truly I could use a sellsword of your caliber here."

"I'll be returning within the fortnight, or whenever Varys sends for me." Bronn was looking forward to it. He had no interest in the game, and was ready to take his pay and go back to living in peace. 

"A shame. Consider staying. I'm sure your daughter will miss you dreadfully." 

Bronn grimaced. She'd be fine, right?


	13. SANSA III

Pentos was beautiful. Admittedly, they could only see it from the sprawling balconies of Magister Illyrio's manse, but the silken tents of the market glowed in the colors of the sunset. The city bustled with life. Trees bearing sweet fruit littered the grounds of the manse, and she and Jeyne spent a lot of time walking through the gardens.

It was a strange place even in its beauty. Slaves milled about, eunuchs in spiked helms guarding every entrance. And the Magister himself was distinctly odd. 

Sansa had introduced herself as Alysanne to everyone of any note. She suspected Illyrio knew who she was, or else why would he help her? But he played along. Jenny and Alysanne, two Westerosi girls of no repute, barefoot and padding through the winding grounds of a mansion.

Safe for now. For the first time in a long time.

"The last Westerosi I hosted here was Daenerys Targaryen, before her wedding to the great Dothraki Khal," he said one night at supper. "A beautiful girl. She's conquered Slaver's Bay, to hear it."

" _ Conquered _ ?" Jeyne asked. 

"With three dragons and an army of Unsullied," he said, pointing to the spiked helm wearing slave. "It's said she breaks the chains off of every slave she sees."

"Well then you had best pray she does not come back for a return visit," Shae said before she could stop herself, her eye on the slaves that stood silent in the room. 

"I will happily free all of my slaves to please the Dragon Queen. But her eyes will turn to Westeros before they turn to Pentos," he said.

A chill passed through Sansa. The thought of a Targaryen ruling Westeros again… She had not been alive for the Mad King, but the stories were horrible. But a woman who frees slaves, certainly she couldn't find herself in the throes of madness, right?

And even still... Westeros was already in the grips of a mad king. Who could be worse than Joffrey?

"The Dragon Queen...is she...kind?"

"It's been years since I have seen her, but from all accounts, a gentle heart," he said. "A firm hand, but a kind woman." 

Ros was watching Illyrio keenly, leaning in to speak with Bronn quietly. They chuckled. Sansa wished they'd speak openly, but perhaps they didn't trust Illyrio Mopatis either. 

She and Jeyne excused themselves to their chambers, flinging open the doors that overlooked the grounds of Illyrio's estate. 

"Maybe the Dragon Queen will feed Joffrey and the Queen to her dragons," Jeyne said, pulling out her knife and tossing it. She was practicing a lot. It scared Sansa, but somehow it made her feel safe, too. They shared a bed, so if anyone came for them, Jeyne would be able to do something about it. 

"I hope so," she agreed. She worried for Lady Margaery and all the rest, but her family was gone...she thought perhaps the world would be better if they just burnt Westeros to the ground and started over. 

  
  


"Lady Alysanne," Bronn said tactfully, after they broke their fast privately in their chambers, a fortnight after their arrival. 

"Ser Bronn," she said graciously. Bronn, despite his roughness, had never been unkind to her. He reminded her a little of Sandor Clegane, but maybe a bit more couth. Someone who seemed frightening, but somehow treated her more kindly than anyone else in the capitol.

"I brought you something," he said, holding out his hand. He held a small dagger, tucked into an ornately jeweled sheath, with pearl inlaid handles. 

"This is beautiful but I don't know how to use it," she said. 

"There's only one way to do it, girl," he said. "There's a sharp side. Just shove it at them." 

"Where did you get this?" 

"Some lad was showing off to his lady in the market and didn't keep a good grip on it," he said with a shrug. 

Jeyne giggled, and Sansa smiled despite herself. A long time ago she would have found it so barbarous, but now she knew better. The world was a bad place, and bad people won. It was good to have a bad person on their side.

"You'll always be happier with a dagger," he said. "And when I'm not here, you ladies will need to take care of yourselves." 

"I do wish you'd stay and be our protector. That's what knights do, don't they?"

"Between you and Lord Tyrion, I think he needs my protection more than you two," he said, a little dismissive. 

"That's a kind thing to say," she started, and then one of Illyrio's eunuchs came into the room. 

"The Magister requires your presence. All of you." He waited for them to leave the room, and followed behind them. Sansa tightened her grip on her dagger, feeling as though perhaps they were in trouble. Had they overstayed their welcome? 

Jeyne clutched her arm, her face steely. Shae and Ros walked behind them, and Bronn in front, and it was comforting to be surrounded. They found Illyrio waiting for them, his guard holding a brown haired boy at spearpoint. 

"Podrick fucking Payne," Bronn said.

"So you do know this man?"

"Yes," Sansa interjected. "He's a friend."

Podrick beamed at her as Bronn wrapped an arm around his shoulders tightly. "You here to take me back?" he asked, but Sansa thought maybe something was amiss, as the smile faded from his face into a deep frown.

"No. I'm...I…Lord Tyrion…" he said. 

Bronn took a step back, and there was an unusual concern on his face, his brows creasing slightly as he silently urged Podrick to speak. 

"The King is ...dead," he managed. "Lord Tyrion has been arrested. He sent me to you because the Queen tried...to get me to testify...and to warn you. She's claiming he murdered Lady Sansa, too." 

Joffrey was  _ dead _ . 

What would they do now?


	14. JEYNE IV

Finding out that Lord Tyrion had been apprehended for murdering the king changed the tone of their stay in Illyrio's manor. Sansa was clearly torn between relief and concern. Bronn seethed with rage after Podrick gave him a missive from Lord Tyrion to stay put until the trial deemed him innocent. Cersei had found it suspicious that he had disappeared with two of her victims, and would be targeted. 

Jeyne had known that staying in Pentos, while not permanent, was at least more permanent for she and Sansa than it was for anyone else there. They didn't have a home to go back to, Winterfell put to the torch and the Boltons in the north.

"You're not to leave this manse for anything," Bronn said the morning after Podrick had arrived. "Cersei will be looking for you. She wants King's Landing to think you're dead so that she can kill you without a fuss."

Frightened, they agreed. 

But with every passing day that they did the same thing, with no apparent threat from the outside, it was easy to grow bored. Podrick Payne was, despite his shyness, good company. Having someone with them close to their own age who wasn't a serving girl was a balm against the isolation.

"Poison," Podrick told them. They had sneaked a cask of wine from supper and had taken refuge in Jeyne and Sansa's chambers. If it were inappropriate to have a boy in there, neither Jeyne's "mother" or "father" cared to enforce such a rule, and Podrick was a perfect gentleman. "He turned purple and clawed at his throat. It was...it was terrible." 

"Do you think Lord Tyrion truly did it?" Jeyne asked.

"He wouldn't," Sansa interjected as Podrick struggled. "...I didn't mean to interrupt you." 

"It's...it's fine, my lady. I was going to say the same thing. Lord Tyrion h-hated Joffrey, but…" The further into his cups Podrick got, the less he seemed to be dominated by his stutter. It was endearing, as he grew more comfortable in their presence, but Jeyne caught the way he regarded Sansa with unease. Boys always looked at Sansa like they were in awe of her, and she never noticed. Not that it matters, she was a woman wed, though never bedded.

Jeyne wondered if she would ever get married. Would they notice the scars on her back and ask...would she be forced to tell them that she was soiled? She had dreamed of being the Lady of some castle, or promised to a brave knight. 

Now she dreamed of fear and fire.

She drank more wine, the topic of Joffrey's death no longer holding much interest for them. 

A fortnight passed from Podrick's arrival with nothing of note. No word from Lord Tyrion or Varys, and no assassins arrived to kill them in their beds. 

"We should go to the beach," she said. "To see the sea, and the ships pulling into harbor." It was a declaration, a demand. She stood up, a little wobbly from dinner wine. "I'm tired of the manse." 

"Someone could come after us, you remember what Ser Bronn told us," Sansa said, a little alarmed. 

"Oh, the beach is just barely outside of the manse," she said, pointing to the sandy cove just down the rocky hill that the house sat on. "It's hardly leaving, they'd be able to see us from the window!" 

"I don't know," Podrick said. "It might...we really shouldn't…" 

Jeyne could see their resolve wavering. The night was crisp and warm and you could smell the salt coming off the sea. Children shouted happily into the dusky night sky. It was a perfect night to walk along the beach, or so she imagined. There were no beaches in Winterfell, and she had not been able to see the shore of King's Landing from her prison.

"It will just be for a few minutes," she said, taking Sansa's hand and pulling her to her feet. Sansa didn't resist, and Podrick sprang up to follow them out of the doors overlooking the beach, carefully climbing over the railing, holding up the edge of her dress. Her feet hit the sand, and it felt so good. Sansa joined her. 

"Lady Sansa! Lady Jeyne!" Podrick bemoaned in a hiss, scrambling to follow them, stumbling over the rail. He got up and skidded down the hill after them as they skipped down the rocky path to the beach. 

Sansa pulled up her hood, and Jeyne tied her short hair back. "Remember, I'm Jenny and she's Alysanne." 

"We should think of a name for Podrick," Sansa said quietly. "They'll be looking for Podrick Payne. They won't be looking for…" She tilted her head. "Rodrik Rivers," she said. "A bastard of Ser Bronn of the Blackwater." 

"That sounds just like Podrick, my lady," Podrick said.

"Well, it will be easy for you to remember, big brother," Jeyne jested, linking her arm with his and grabbing Sansa's hand with her other. "I'm only kidding," she added when he looked abashed. 

The beach wasn't crowded, but there were a few people milling around, mostly attended by their servants. The slaves made Jeyne feel strange. She missed Westeros. It was odd to be in a strange place, in a strange land, and to be expected to stay for so long… 

Was there any way they could go home?

They walked over to where the waves met the sand, and they stood and let the warm water rush over their toes. Podrick stood back a couple of feet, watching keenly for other people, but no one approached for a few moments. They splashed in the water, probably ruining the dresses Illyrio had loaned them, but she found herself unable to care. The water felt cool, and Sansa's laughter felt comforting.

Eventually a boy their age sauntered up, eyeing them interestedly. "My name is Lyrian," he said, his accent thick, despite his seeming ease with the Common tongue. "You're very lovely," he said, addressing Jeyne specifically. 

Jeyne felt tension in her shoulders. Back one day, back in her old life, she had longed for boys to notice her the way she always thought they noticed Sansa. She had mooned over handsome knights like Beric Dondarrion, the sort of rugged men of heroic poems and songs. 

But men...they were monsters. They took everything they could from a person and didn't notice when they broke a thing. They kept breaking it, and pretended that they were different from the others who had done the same thing. 

This was a boy her own age, with a dimple in his chin and a shy smile, though. Harmless, right? She couldn't be afraid forever. 

"I'm afraid we must get back to our father," Podrick said, pulling Jeyne away. He had seen her freeze up, and guided her back up the rocky path, Sansa tight at her side. "Are you all right, my lady?" 

"Yes. I'm very sorry," she said. "We were having fun and then I…" Wiping away a stray tear she hadn't even felt form. "I ruined it." 

"You did not," Sansa said hotly. "We needed to go back, anyway. We'll go back tomorrow and hopefully no strangers will bother us." They sneaked back into the manse the same way they left, and found Jeyne and Sansa's chambers undisturbed. Podrick excused himself for the night and left them alone. 

They changed out of their salty, wet clothes, and into dressing gowns, settling down together as they did every night. "Are you all right?" Sansa asked. "Tell me true."

"I just…" She shuddered a little. "Men scare me." 

Sansa reached around and squeezed her in tight. "Well, we'll just never talk to any boys ever again. How about that?" 

"I like that plan." She paused, a smirk forming in spite of her pounding heart. "Well, except Podrick."

"What is  _ that  _ supposed to mean?" Sansa demanded, but Jeyne would let her figure that out on her own.


	15. BRONN VI

Bronn was growing impatient. Pentos was distracting. He liked the smell of the city, and the bustle. The whores were plentiful and the wine was sweet, but knowing that Tyrion was imprisoned made him uneasy.

He didn't like looking over his shoulder. He'd become used to his power in King's Landing, and had grown comfortable with being able to do whatever he pleased. Now...he was just as vulnerable as anyone. The Cities were rife with assassins, more skilled than any of the sellswords of Westeros. Cersei would absolutely send hired knives after him, with her diabolical brother killing her beloved son. 

He was at the market, buying a few bits of fruit from a pretty girl with an unfortunate collar. Being back in Slaver cities was...strange. He'd spent his time wandering up and down the coast, from Braavos down to Volantis. Tyrosh and Lys. He never got used to slaves. He drank with a pirate once who told him Westerosi were soft-hearted, but he knew better than that. 

As he walked out of the pub, he looked down into the docks and saw a red-sailed ship just off into the distance. He squinted, and saw a Lannister lion sail flapping in the breeze. He had seen that ship before in the harbor at King's Landing. 

He set off for the manse. It was inevitable that the Lannisters found them, but would Cersei really be so brazen as to fly a Lannister sail and announce herself to them? 

Of course she fucking would. 

The manse wasn't far, but he was winded by the time he arrived. Shae and Ros were playing cyvasse in the corner of a large room. "What's wrong with you?" Shae asked him. 

"Lannister ship in the port."

"We don't know they know to find us here," Ros said. "They could just be making port before they head to Volantis or Dorne." 

She was right, but Bronn couldn't squash the bad feeling in his gut. He had long learned to trust his instincts on things like this. "Well, we should warn the little ladies, regardless," he said. Ros got up from the table and moved ahead of him, climbing the stairs and disappearing into the depths of the manse to where Sansa and Jeyne spent most of their time. 

It was a few long moments of silence, the tension amplifying as he waited. Shae stood from the table, her eyebrows drawing in. Ros reappeared at the top of the stairs. 

"They're not here," she said, breathless.

"What?"

"Jeyne, Sansa, and Podrick...they're not  _ here… _ " she said, more forcefully this time. 

"Fuck. Shit." Bronn kicked the leg of a nearby table. He had told them. Half a hundred times he had told those girls to stay in the fucking house. To not leave their sights. And of course he knew they sneaked off to the shore once or twice, but on the day that a Lannister ship made port? Of all the fucking times for them to be rebellious. 

"Check the gardens," he told Shae. She looked about to argue, but then she just walked towards the back of the manor. Bronn made his way to the beach. It was crowded with children playing and people sunning themselves or fishing, or just watching the ships come into the port. 

Every brown-haired girl looked like it could be Jeyne as his heart raced. Why the fuck hadn't she listened to him? 

He didn't find Jeyne and Sansa first, though. He found Meryn Trant. 

That white cloaked fucker thought he was sneaky without his shiny armor, in plain leathers, stalking along the beaches with an ugly look on his face. But Bronn knew that face. He found a way behind Trant and saw who he was looking at -- two girls and a boy, collecting shells in a leather pouch. Two brown haired kids and a girl with her hair hidden by a shawl. 

Stabbing Ser Meryn in the back would be satisfying. He could think of more satisfying things, though. Instead, he swept around the sputtering, useless knight and ran up to his charges. 

"What the fuck are you doing out here?" he demanded. 

That was enough to send Podrick reeling back in fear and Sansa cringing from his tone. Jeyne flinched, but looked defiant. "We got bored," she said. 

"Well go back,  _ now, _ " he said. 

She looked ready to say something else, but Sansa grabbed her hand and pulled her along. Bronn turned and locked eyes with Ser Meryn, daring him to follow them. He didn't move as Bronn walked up to him, knife in hand.

"Good to see you again, Ser Fucker," he said with an easy grin. "What brings you to Pentos? A holiday, I hope. You do work so hard helping your Queen torture puppies and whatever else it is she's having you do by now." 

He put his hand to his sword, but Bronn was quicker. 

  
  


He took time to wash most of the blood off before he confronted his wards, who were all looking guilty and shame-faced in Sansa's chambers. "That was fucking stupid," he told them. 

"I'm sorry, Ser Bronn," Podrick said, staring at the floor. 

"I know it wasn't your idea, lad," he said. 

"You can't keep us locked up in here forever!" Jeyne protested, standing. Sansa tried to tug her back down but she ignored it. "It's not fair. No one was after us. We were just on the beach!" 

"Nothing's fucking fair, girl, you of all people should have realized that by now." He paused. "You can't stay here and stay safe if you don't listen to me." 

"You're as bad as Littlefinger," she said, callous and defiant. "We're locked up here like it's for the best but it's only the best for  _ you _ and the Spider!" 

"I missed the part where you were being whipped and raped," he shot back before he could stop himself. Her anger was tearful now. "Come with me." He felt guilty for what he'd said, but it was too late now. 

She recoiled when he reached for her. "I don't want to," she said. "You're not my father, you can't boss me around." 

"You're oddly brave tonight, girl. Come with me, now, I want to show you something," he said, gesturing for her to follow him. Begrudgingly, she followed. "You two stay here. My  _ daughter _ needs a lesson in safety, I think." 

"What are you going to do? Beat me?" she shot back once they were outside the room. 

"I'm going to show you something," he said. There was a small back room in the cheesemonger's manse that had hard stone floors. Easy to clean. It seemed to function as a punishment room, or an interrogation room. Or maybe that's where he kept Varys when he visited.

It didn't matter now. He let Jeyne inside and she gasped at the sight of the bound man on the floor. Blood leaked from Meryn Trant's temples. "You  _ were  _ being followed," he told her, to her immediate shame. 

Jeyne's mouth dropped open, and she looked up at him. "When we were there...I felt...like we were being watched...but I just. I wanted to ignore it," she said. 

"First lesson, always trust your instincts," he said. "If you feel like you're being watched, you are." He jerked the dagger out of his belt, tossing it in the air and catching it by the handle. Before it even settled in his hand, he threw it again, into Meryn fucking Trant's chest.

"I'll have someone come clean that up, I suppose," Illyrio Mopatis sang from the doorway. "A shipment has arrived for you, Ser Bronn."

"What?" he asked. "I'm busy." 

He tutted. "I imagine you'll be quite interested to see what it is." 

Jeyne, frozen halfway between horror and glee, didn't move as she watched Meryn Trant bleed to death on the cold stone floor. The blood touched the blue hem of her dress, and she finally stepped away.

"Go back to your lady," he told her as he followed the fat man out into the main courtyard, where a box faintly reeking of shit sat. 

Wielding a pry bar with shocking deftness, Lord Varys opened it, and Tyrion fucking Lannister rolled out onto the ground at Bronn's feet. 

"You're still here. Good," he said, blinking in the blinding sunlight as his drunk eyes focused onto Bronn. "Did you miss me?" 

"Oddly enough, I fucking did." 


	16. ARYA I

"Who would pass the bloody gate?" a man announced in an official voice. It had been a long road to the Vale, from the Brotherhood to the Twins to learning of Joffrey's death… Through it all she had been stuck with Sandor Clegane, and now she saw a way out. Her aunt awaited on the top of a mountain. An aunt she'd never known...but her mother's own sister wouldn't turn her away for being dirty and having short hair, would she? 

"The bloody Hound," he said back. "And his...traveling companion. Arya Stark, niece to Lady Lysa." 

The men stepped aside and let them through. They were guided by armored men to a castle at the base of the mountains. She had heard of it before; the Gates of the Moon, a seat of the Royce family. 

"Will we be going to the Eyrie soon?" she asked one of the knights, who didn't speak.

"We will go tell your aunt of your presence and return soon. She is...a particular woman. She may want to verify your identity before she welcomes you up the mountain," one of the men said. "We will make haste." 

What would a few days in a castle be compared to the weeks and months she'd been wandering the Riverlands?

"Lady Royce, we've brought...visitors," a knight said, clearly not able to make sense of their appearance. 

Lady Royce was a young woman, buxom and smiling, dressed finely with curly brown hair. She received them in the Great Hall. A black haired girl stood off to the side, something familiar in her blue eyes. "Welcome to the Gates of the Moon, Arya Stark," she said. "You as well, Bloody Hound."

Sandor stood silently behind Arya, waiting for an attack that wouldn't come. 

"Are you the Lord of the Castle?" 

"I am the castellan of the Castle, my father is at the Eyrie with Lady Lysa for the wedding," she said, a smirk playing across her round face.

"Lord Royce is your father," she said. "The same Lord Royce who rode in the tourney of the Hand at King's Landing when my father was named Hand?" she asked. Sansa had patiently memorized the family tree of every highborn family in the kingdom, and Arya had not paid near enough attention, she was realizing. 

"Oh no. We're a cadet branch of House Royce. The Lord you met was Bronze Yohn, a cousin of my father Lord Nestor," she said. "But if you know Bronze Yohn, you might truly be a Stark… He and your lord father were friends." She looked to her companion. 

"She doesn't much look like her mother," the black haired girl said. 

"My dear friend Mya Stone helped guide your mother up the mountain and back down again some time ago," she said.

"My mother was a Tully, like your Lady Lysa. I look like my father, like a Stark. Lord Yohn would know me, like you said, he was a friend to my father," she said stubbornly. Then she paused. "What wedding were you talking about?" 

"Lady Lysa," she said. "She's wedding Lord Baelish. Or she's wedded Lord Baelish? It's hard to keep track, the woman was in a rush." Myranda Royce laughed merrily. "Mya, make haste to the castle and tell Lady Lysa her niece awaits below. Lady Arya, Ser Sandor, please enjoy the hospitality of the Gates of the Moon while you wait."

Arya looked at Sandor. Littlefinger was in the Eyrie. Littlefinger had been at Harrenhal. She had never figured out if he'd seen her or not, but he must not have, since he didn't tell Lord Tywin, right?

She was happy to have a hot bath, and Lady Myranda came in as she scrubbed. "I have some of my brother's old riding clothes from when he was a bit skinnier. I think it'll fit you better than these old rags." 

"You've been very kind," she said, wondering what this Myranda Royce wanted from her. 

Her smile started to fade. "Lady Lysa has not allowed many to pass the Gates of the Moon since Lord Jon died, my lady. I am not sure even blood could compel her to allow the Hound to darken her doorstep." 

"If you pay him, he'll leave," she said with a snort, trying on the clothes that Lady Myranda had provided her. 

"I don't know if she'll even allow you up." 

"Lord Baelish will recognize me. He can tell her that I'm really...me…"

Lady Myranda nodded. "Well, I hope you enjoy staying here, for however long you must stay here." 

It was a week before Lord Baelish arrived with the dark haired bastard girl, Mya. Arya was called into the great hall to meet him. He looked much the same as he had at Harrenhal, and he looked at her scrutinizingly. 

"The Lady Lysa will be pleased that you spoke true, Mya. Her niece has come to the Vale." Littlefinger clapped Mya on the shoulder. She shrugged him off and rejoined Myranda at the high table. "Sandor Clegane. I expect a reward is in order."

"I'd rather take it from the lady herself," he said. 

Arya looked up at him. He didn't trust Littlefinger. But who did he trust? It didn't matter. Whether Littlefinger was a friend or a foe, her mother's sister awaited. 

"The Lady of the Eyrie does not come down the mountain for anything, Hound. And I believe you may be too large to bring up the mountain on either mule or bucket," he said, a faint chuckle trailing off. 

Sandor looked down at her and she felt as though she should have said she would stay here. Lady Royce had been kind, and she knew nothing of Lysa. Sandor fancied himself her protector, but she didn't  _ need  _ protecting. Especially not from a man who didn't even look like he could swing a sword. 

Littlefinger offered a bag to The Hound. A bag of gold. "It's not quite the bounty the Lannisters have on you, I confess, but Tywin Lannister is dead, so you'll understand, I'm sure."

He looked inside the bag and then back at Arya. He would choose money over her any day. She understood it. "Fuck it. Girl, are you going or what?"

"I'll go," she said. "My family is waiting. Aunt and cousin. You got me as far as you said you would." 

Sandor grimaced and nodded. 

Arya stepped over to him and stretched as tall as she could to hug him. She had never done that before. She hadn't hugged anyone since Hot Pie had left her. "I'll just stab him if I need to leave. You're not hard to find," she whispered.

The Hound chuckled, and actually ruffled her hair, the way Jon Snow used to. Absurdly, she wanted to cry. But instead she crossed the room to join Littlefinger. 

It took a long time to arrive at the Eyrie. Even as big as the mountains were, she had been a little optimistic about her ability to scale it. Mya's donkeys were sure-footed and easy-going. She liked Mya Stone. She was witty and charming, like her Lady Royce. 

"Did Randa tell you what happened to her first husband?" she said with a bawdy laugh. 

"No."

"Lord Nestor married her off to some toothless old Lord. Ancient as the dragon bones beneath the Red Keep, probably." 

"I've seen those," she interjected excitedly.

"Aye. Beautiful, I bet. Anyway. She's married to the old man, right? And she's doing her wifely duty as they always expect us to," she said. Arya knew well enough to know she meant sex, and she couldn't picture being forced to marry some Lord older than her father's father. She was so glad to be a third born and a second daughter. "And right there in the midst of it," she said, laughter overtaking the story. "He dies! Right on top of her!"

Mya and their other escort chuckle heartily, and Littlefinger smiles. Arya snorts in laughter. 

"What he deserves for thinking he's worthy of a young wife," the knight said. 

Mya told more bawdy stories as they climbed, and it was nearly dark when they arrived. Arya felt frozen as she stepped inside the grand castle. It was high, and everything about it seemed...high. Tall, not wide the way Winterfell was. 

Lady Lysa greeted them. She was a shadow of Catelyn. Gaunt and severe where Catelyn had been soft and kind. The Tully look was unmistakable, and Arya hoped that her own face was unmistakable, too.

"My dear wife," Littlefinger said. Before he could continue, she swept him into her arms and kissed him long and deep. His eyes were open. "I have missed you as well. May I present your niece, the Lady Arya of House Stark." 

"She does have Lord Stark's look," Lysa said, her tone effusive and warm. The warmth of her voice didn't match the cool expression in her eyes. "Welcome to the Eyrie, Arya."

She thought she would be happy to see her family again, but the cold eyes of her aunt as she clutched Littlefinger to her made her stomach twist. Had she made a mistake?


	17. SANSA IV

Sansa and Jeyne had been relegated to their chambers as Lord Tyrion and the others debated on what they were going to do now that he had arrived. Of course, despite Podrick's protestations, they sneaked up to listen in to the plan. 

" -- have a chance to serve," Lord Varys said. "A just ruler with an army and the right family name." 

Tyrion muttered something in response, and Bronn said something else. 

"Ugh, I can't hear them," Jeyne said, straining. 

"Meereen is a long way, Lord Varys," Tyrion said. "Is she actually worth it?" 

Varys spoke again, more quietly. The shifting winds off of the beach made it hard to truly listen, but Sansa had sussed out what they were speaking of. Illyrio Mopatis had spoken of Daenerys Targaryen off in the East amassing her power. Lord Varys has worked with Illyrio for years, and now he wanted to send Tyrion to Meereen to bring her to Westeros and take the Iron Throne from the Lannisters.

She hadn't found out much about the circumstances of Tyrion's return. Tywin Lannister was dead, but why or how...she didn't know. She didn't want to ask, he seemed morose. That meant that Cersei ruled the Seven Kingdoms. Even with Margaery as Tommen's wife...Cersei would not allow it. She was the Queen now, and her father was not there to stop her. 

That made Sansa uneasy, and somehow the thought of going East sounded appealing. Even as terrifying the idea of facing the Dragon Queen might be, it was nothing compared to the torture that Cersei would inflict on she and Jeyne if she captured them. 

"Cersei has told the entire country that you murdered Sansa Stark, that makes Arya Stark the heir to Winterfell," Varys said, his tone louder now. 

Jeyne and Sansa looked at each other. Arya was dead, right? That meant Winterfell went to...well, Edmure Tully or Robin Arryn, she supposed. 

"My little birds in the Vale says that Arya Stark has been delivered to Littlefinger," he announced. "With Tywin gone, it's a gamble whether or not Littlefinger decides to back the Lannisters, or keep to himself. Roose Bolton and Walder Frey are most likely assessing their loyalties to House Lannister without Tywin's power backing it. A kingslayer, a woman, and a boy king...not inspiring confidence." 

"So you think Littlefinger will…" 

"He could sell her to the Boltons, or he could marry her to Lord Robin Arryn and the Vale and hope the North rises up against the Boltons on her behalf," he said. "It's hard to say, and I've only gotten whispers...nothing truly substantial. He is wed to Lysa Arryn, and the armies of the Vale are unspent." 

Sansa felt cold inside, stepping back from the doorway. Podrick looked over at her, concern in his brown eyes. 

"My lady?" he whispered. 

Jeyne was looking at her too. She grabbed Sansa by the arms tightly, shock melting into something like relief. "Arya is alive," she said. 

"Arya is alive," Sansa repeated, wanting to cry or scream or cheer, but not wanting to alert them to their presence. "But...Littlefinger...she doesn't know…" she said. Arya had only met Littlefinger at the tourney in King's Landing, hadn't she? Did she know what he'd done to her? To  _ Jeyne _ ? Would she be safe? 

"Ros, I would have you go ahead to Volantis. Speak with a few people, arrange our travel. You'll attract less attention than we will. When we arrive, we'll make the trip to Meereen together." 

"And the little ladies?" Bronn asked, and the door opened and he looked accusingly at the three of them where they stood.

"They should come with us. An envoy from Westeros to show Daenerys that she has allies in the Seven Kingdoms," Varys said. "And it would be safer for them there. The Lannisters will find them before long, and we cannot continue imposing on Illyrio Mopatis." He watched them interestedly, and Sansa shifted.

She lifted her chin in defiance. "I...don't want to go to Meereen," she said. Jeyne gaped and Podrick inhaled sharply. "My sister is in the Vale, and she's in danger if she's with Littlefinger. I'd like to find a way to help her." 

"With what army?" 

Sansa faltered. "I am the heir to Winterfell," she said. "If I returned to Winterfell, she would become a less valuable hostage, and maybe the Lords of the North would rally to save her on  _ my  _ behalf." She hadn't thought of a true plan, she just knew a big sister needed to protect her younger siblings. "Lord Yohn Royce was a great friend to my father, I could go to him and warn him about Littlefinger…" 

Varys and Tyrion exchanged looks. 

"I have an idea," Tyrion said, his eyes narrowed in thought. "Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne has proven to be a friend to us," he said. "He smuggled me out on a ship meant for my niece Myrcella. He hates the Lannisters. You won't be safe in Westeros, without allies." 

Varys looked impressed. "Are you suggesting --" 

"Go to Dorne, and implore Doran Martell for help. We need high lords to back Daenerys Targaryen if she's to defeat my sister," he said. "Perhaps, if we send an envoy to some of the Lords, they will agree to help against both Cersei and Littlefinger and prove amenable to Daenerys when she arrives." 

"That's too far south," Sansa complained. "It will take too long." 

Varys was thinking it over. "I have…" He paused. "An idea. Deliver a letter," he said. "To Lord Royce of the Vale. Let him know that Sansa Stark is alive, and the rightful heir to Winterfell. Send it to Lord Manderly of the north as well. They will know you're alive, know to doubt Littlefinger's claims, should he attempt to use Arya. You'll be too far south for your enemies to capture, but there will be muttering amongst the lords that may unseat the Boltons and Baelish." 

"We're putting the ladies in danger just because possibly, maybe her being alive will make the lords wanna be on our side?" Bronn asked, incised. 

"This is what they want. Write the letters, Sansa, if it agrees with you, and then we can make plans. Tyrion must ride to Meereen to advise Daenerys Targaryen, and Lady Sansa...you will be our envoy in Westeros. Ned Stark's beloved daughter helping unseat the family who killed him." 

"And crown the daughter of the man who killed my grandfather, the sister of the man who raped my aunt," she said bluntly. 

"Daenerys Targaryen is good, and not like her father. I would not lie to you on this, Lady Sansa," Varys said, touching her hand gently. "I do not have intentions to plunge Westeros into war," he said. 

"What about Stannis?" she asked. " _ King _ Stannis."

"King Stannis rescued the Wall from the threat of the Wildlings, and now is stationed there, plotting an attack on Winterfell. Whether she comes to Westeros and must fight Stannis or Cersei, it matters not. She has the greater army, three dragons, and the love of the people who follow her. Neither of them have that." 

Sansa did not know if she trusted Stannis more than she trusted Varys, standing before her, earnestly pleading for her help. 

All she had to do was return to Westeros. If the Lords of Westeros truly loved and listened to her...perhaps, things would be different. 

"Winter will break Stannis. He has the fewest resources, and winning the lords of the north will prove difficult, even after he saved them from the wildlings. Lady Sansa appearing alive in Westeros will rally the north more than Stannis and his red witch ever could." 

Bronn didn't look happy. "Ros is leaving, we're leaving, and you're sending two fifteen year old girls as an envoy for a queen they never met," he said grumpily. "Is this  _ worth  _ it?" 

"My dear Bronn," Varys said. "When the Lords of Westeros refuse Daenerys, they will have to be, let's say,  _ replaced _ by lords who do. Do you know how many castles in Westeros would be yours for the taking?" he asked. 

That seemed to convince Bronn, but he still looked over at Sansa and Jeyne doubtfully. 

"We must go to Westeros and save my sister," Sansa said. "Ser Bronn, you told us once that Tyrion needed your protection more than we do. And you're right. We can go to Dorne on our own. As the Lady of Winterfell, I must be ready to meet with the High Lords." 

"You do truly carry yourself like a lady," Tyrion said. "If you feel like this is worth it, then it's settled. Podrick, will you come to Meereen with us, or would you like to stay with your ladies?" 

Podrick turned dark red and made a strangled noise in his throat. Sansa had grown used to his presence in Pentos these past few weeks. He was kind and funny, when he was in his cups enough to speak without turning purple. It had been so long since she had made a new friend, and even though he was a squire to her husband, she almost wished he would come with them. 

"My lord...I am your squire," he said. "I'll stay by your side." 

Maybe Sansa imagined that Tyrion looked a little disappointed too. "All right, lad." 

Jeyne squeezed her hand, casting her a knowing look that for some reason irritated Sansa even more. 


	18. JON I

Jon awoke in chains. It had been a foolish idea to ride out from the Wall. Rickon had arrived a fortnight ago, just missing Stannis's army. Jon knew that having Ned Stark's heir would help King Stannis's claim, and tensions at the Wall were growing since he had agreed to give the Wildlings the Gift. He was the Lord Commander, and his duty was to the lives of his men. It would save lives. 

Mance had chosen to burn, so he had sent Tormund and Edd to Hardhome, and Rickon to the Gift, with the Wildling woman Osha and Shaggydog and Ghost to keep him safe. Sam had told him that Bran was alive, too. So what had Theon done to Winterfell? They had said he'd killed Bran and Rickon...but they were alive.

He and Theon had never gotten on, but he had been shocked to his core when he'd returned to the Wall and heard the news of Winterfell. Theon and Robb had been so close. Knowing that he hadn't actually killed the boys...he wasn't sure what to make of it at all. 

Osha knew to look for Longspear Ryk and Munda Giantsbane, and wait for the hopeful return of Tormund and the rest of the Free Folk. The direwolves would protect them. He had ridden out to find King Stannis, but he'd found a trap instead, the thick winter storm obscuring his foes until he was surrounded. 

It was foolish, and he would die like this. The first Lord Commander to die within a fortnight of being named.

"If I'm not back soon, or if you get news the battle has turned ill, ride hard for the coast, find passage to Bear Island," he had told Ser Davos, charged with protecting the little Princess. The wildlings mistrusted her Greyscale, and he mistrusted many Northern Lords, but not Lyanna Mormont. She had made her intentions clear, to Stannis's frustration. She reminded him of Arya, from her letter.

The memory of his sister was more painful than the leather straps digging into his skin. He had been there two nights, he thought, by the amount of times he'd had water splashed on him. 

The boy returned to him. He did the same thing he always did. He cut and prodded parts of Jon until Jon was screaming, demanding all the while to know where the Stark boys were. Jon said nothing. He would say nothing. 

"All I want to know is where Bran and Rickon are, bastard," he said, his pale eyes flickering in the torchlight. "There was word that they were heading to the Wall, and that's where you came from," he said, tugging on Jon's black leathers. "So you must know. I sent my man Locke to find out...and never heard back."

"Because he's dead," he said, spitting in the Boy's face. It was the first three words he'd said since his capture.

"So you can speak. Sometimes they say bastards are too stupid…" he said thoughtfully. "And Starks aren't known for their wit, we'll say." 

"Aren't you a bastard?" he asked, his throat scratchy and his lungs burning from the strain of his arms tied above his head. "The Bastard of Bolton, right? That's what they call you." 

"Fortunately for me, I've been naturalized," he said. "By royal decree." 

"Isn't Tommen Baratheon a bastard too?" he asked, and he earned a slap for that bit of insolence. It was worth it. The Bastard of Bolton was thin-skinned, it seemed. 

"You're more talkative now. Might be you want to tell me where Bran and Rickon Stark are?" 

He fell silent again.

Bolton glared, then a smile erupted over his face. "Well, my Lord Father will be here soon, you know, Bastard, and I wouldn't want him to be insulted by the state of his castle. I'll have to send for you to get cleaned up. I got...scolded...last time I was careless with valuable hostages. This time I should be more careful."

"It's not your father's castle," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Winterfell belongs to the Starks and it always will," he said. 

"Well you must tell me where the Starks are so I can return their castle to them," he said. "No? All right then. Be silent."

Jon was alone again, in the dark of the room, blood dripping from his battered fingers. Between where Orell had gouged him and Ygritte had shot him, Ramsay's knives felt like kisses. It was not going to break him. 

But what would he do if he escaped? He could return to the Wall...would Ser Alliser think him a traitor? Would Edd? They would have his head for desertion if he couldn't prove to them he was a captive. Thorne wouldn't believe him, would he?

He despaired in his solitude until the door opened again, and he looked up expecting Ramsay again, but he saw a new figure, thin and pale haired, hunched over a broom. A horror of familiarity washed over him.

They both recoiled at the sight of each other. "Theon?"

Theon Greyjoy backed up to the door, meek and afraid, unlike Jon had ever seen him. "No. No. It's Reek."


	19. BRON VII

The manse in Pentos had always been a temporary stop, but Bronn hadn't realized that the next leg of the journey was so far.  _ Meereen _ . He'd never been to Slaver's Bay, and he'd been to quite a few places in his life. But this would be new. 

Ros left for Volantis the morning after they had decided their course of action. She would arrange passage for them and they would meet her once they had secured a ship for the little ladies to the Water Gardens. 

He had, of course, contemplated returning to Westeros. Technically, he hadn't really been complicit in Tyrion and Varys's schemes, he could easily jaunt on up to King's Landing and pretend he'd been on a holiday and had no concept of what had happened. Only Meryn Trant had witnessed him in Pentos, and Ser Meryn wasn't telling anyone any time soon. 

Cersei would never believe it, and rebuking her attempts to get Jeyne Poole returned had likely not endeared himself to the Queen. He thought, briefly and unbidden, of Margaery. She had wanted a favor from him, certainly a lowly knight could find a place for himself in Highgarden, should he need it. 

The upward mobility might lack. Varys was not making any specific promises, but he certainly was insinuating wealth and a lordship were in the cards if he went with Tyrion, and he'd proven to be a eunuch of his word so far. 

Jeyne came into his chambers that night. The wing of the manse they had been sheltering in was alight with a loud argument. Away from the city, Tyrion and Shae no longer had to maintain pretense. Which led to a loud fight on the eve of the little ladies' departure. Tyrion wanted her to come to Meereen with him, but she felt like the whole plot was too dangerous for all of them. 

Jeyne didn't like the yelling, he could tell by the look in her eyes, so he let her in and let her settle onto his bed. "They're angry," she said. 

"Of course. People who love each other get angry sometimes," he said. They had gotten a little heated with one another after the Meryn Trant incident, and he hadn't apologized, but fuck, neither had she. She had disobeyed him and put herself at risk -- 

He sounded like a father. Fuck. 

"You're going to Meereen?" 

"I'm a sellsword, girl. Tyrion is still paying for me, so I need to go with him." 

Something hollow and unfamiliar tugged at his heart as she looked up at him with a resigned sadness. She had gained a bit of weight during their time together, and she looked healthier than she had when they'd met and she'd been nothing but a gaunt twig of a thing who looked ready to shatter at any moment. 

She would not shatter now, he didn't think. 

"You can always come with us," he said. "This Dorne plan is...well. It's risky. Dangerous. You don't  _ have  _ to go." 

Jeyne leaned into him when he sat down next to her. "I cannot leave Lady Sansa. She needs me." She paused. "I need you too." She enfolded his hand in her small, soft hands and squeezed. "But…" 

Shae and Tyrion's argument was waning in the background. "Too many people need me," he said, a fond chuckle escaping his lips. "I can't be everywhere I'm needed." So he had to follow the money, as he always did, even if something in her brown eyes gave him pause.

"I...I know." 

"It won't be long. We're going over there to bring her to Westeros," he said. "A few months, maybe? You won't even have time to miss me. Just keep your dagger close and remember to never trust anyone but yourself." 

She grinned. "And my instincts." 

"Always. You know how to survive even if you don't realize it. You have for a while." 

She stood up, still holding onto his hand. "You're a good father, Ser Bronn," she declared, wiping away a tear from her cheek he hadn't even noticed before.

"You're a good daughter, Lady Jeyne," he said, squeezing her fingers before she finally released him. He stood up to walk her to the door, stopping her before she stepped outside, leaning in and pressing a brief kiss to her forehead. 

She smiled sheepishly and disappeared down the hallway to return to her companions. 

It was naught five minutes later that Tyrion barged in with a cask of wine, looking morose, as he often had these past few months. Tywin Lannister's return to King's Landing had marked a shift in Tyrion's disposition, and Bronn found it deeply uninteresting. All of his personal failings were exhausting, not the least his issues with Shae, which was infuriating at all angles.

"She's not coming," he said.

"No shit," Bronn said. 

"I thought she would," he said in that naive way that Tyrion could act sometimes. The cleverest man he knew...but a fool, all the same. "I...love her, and she says she loves me. Why wouldn't she come?" 

"She loves Lady Sansa, and Jeyne too," he pointed out. "And you sent her away and stayed in a city full of people who loathe you instead of coming with her to be happy. Or, I suppose that's her perspective." Hearing Tyrion moan about the woman he loved was Bronn's least favorite duty as a hired lackey. 

"What's your perspective?" he asked, filling their cups. 

Why his opinion mattered, he wasn't sure. It rarely had in the past. "You pay me and I go where I'm told," he said. "You stop paying me, and I go to someone who will." And he'd better get a handsome payment for this bullshit. 

"And that's it?" 

"And that's it," he agreed. "We're friends, Tyrion, but there aren't any friends I've ever had I'd do this for. This is a business transaction, too. And it should've stayed like that with Shae, but you pay people to become your friends and then when they really become your friends, you don't like how they act." It was a hard truth, but one Tyrion probably needed to hear. "You can't control people, except with gold, and if you want friends and lovers who don't love you for your gold, then you can't complain when they aren't under your control." 

"How insightful," Tyrion said, a little scathing as he drained his cup. His eyelids were heavy and Bronn was starting to think he was going to have to surrender his bed that night to his despondent friend. "I never knew you were smart." 

"You don't pay me for my wits," he said, setting the cups down somewhere safely, so as not to stain Illyrio's silken blankets. He stretched out next to him.

"I just thought we had a chance to...be...together, you know?" he said, miserable as his head hit the pillow. 

"You did, but you made a choice," he said, blunt by trying not to be unkind. Something about the sadness in his eyes pulled at Bronn the same way that Jeyne had, and he sighed, leaning over an impulsively pressing his lips to Tyrion's forehead. If he was going to act like a sad child, he supposed he could be treated like one.

Tyrion snored. 

Bronn sighed again. What the fuck was he doing? 


	20. BRIENNE I

"I'm searching for a young girl, maybe 14, or a large man with a burned face," she told him when she came across his farm. "Or the outlaws known as the Brotherhood."

The old farmer had a bruise on his head, but his memory was keen. He seemed shocked. "I saw a girl and a burned man not a fortnight ago. Begging your pardon m'lady but the man robbed me of all I had, even as he said he'd been sworn to House Tully. I would not seek them out."

She only knew the Hound by reputation, but who else could a nearly 7-foot tall man with a burned face be? He had deserted the Lannisters, and maybe now he had Arya Stark, too. The boy at the inn with the bread, he'd said he left Arya on the road months ago, with the Brotherhood, and the Hound. Now there were rumors of the Hound killing Lannister men in the Riverlands, and attacking this poor farmer.

She pulled a few gold dragons from her purse. "To replace what was stolen. You've been generous. Find somewhere safe for Winter," she said. 

Tears filled the man's eyes. "It's good to know that there are noble and true knights in the world," he said. She didn't correct him. 

"Did the girl or the big man say where they meant to go?"

"No. Only that they were sworn to House Tully, once. Might be they went to the Vale. If they weren't just outlaws, Lord Tully's sister rules there, and maybe she has want of strong men. War makes us do desperate things, m'lady, so I can't speak for their intentions." 

Brienne nodded. "Thank you for your kindness." She gave him another coin. She had more than she needed, and Arya was her responsibility. She'd sworn to Lady Catelyn. 

Jaime had sent her on this quest with no notion of if Arya was even alive. When she'd arrived at King's Landing and discovered Sansa was missing, she'd nearly fallen into despair. Queen Cersei said that Lord Tyrion had killed her, but Jaime didn't believe that.

"Tyrion's not a murderer," he'd said. "Sansa is alive. Where, he won't say. Not even to me."

He'd laughed a bitter laugh. And now Lord Tyrion had murdered Tywin. So much for Jaime's faith.

But Jaime's faith had gotten her this far. Armed and armored and alive. He'd lost his hand to bring her to safety, and she owed him at least an effort. 

"Maybe he sent her to Lady Lysa," Jaime had said. "It's the only place any Stark might be safe south of the Wall. I'd start there." He'd hesitated, looking down at the painted table. "And if you don't succeed, you can always return. You'll have a place here."

Brienne couldn't serve the Lannisters, even as much as she admired Jaime. She had promised Lady Catelyn, and she would find the Stark girls. She hadn't expected to find out that Arya Stark had been alive as recently as a fortnight ago, but she had. 

All in all, a successful venture so far. She did feel a little lonely, maybe. But she had been alone for all her life in one way or another. She was used to it. 

It took three days of hard riding to get to the Bloody Gate, and she found herself turned away. They said nothing of Arya or Sandor Clegane, only that she wasn't welcome, and that they had no answers for her. 

That seemed, somehow, to her, more suspicious than if they had said they hadn't seen Arya at all. 

She had no choice but to regroup. Maybe Arya and Clegane would go to Jon Snow at the Wall. She would have to ride for Gulltown and charter a ship to White Harbour and ride for Castle Black. By the time she made it, maybe they would have arrived. 

Knowing she would be on the road much longer, she almost regretted giving away her gold. But he'd truly needed it, and she would be fine. 

A real town sounded appealing after so many nights sleeping in the saddle and living on dried rabbit and whatever mealy apples could be pilfered from abandoned orchards. Gulltown wasn't terribly far from the Bloody Gate, and she made good time riding there. It was the best part of being alone, not being beholden to anyone else's schedule. 

"Where might I find a room for the night?" she asked a gray haired woman as she led her horse into town. 

"Oh, probably down towards the dock. The inn usually has room this time of season," she said. "Are you a knight?"

"No."

"You've got armor on," she said.

"Yes. But anyone can buy armor," she said, as kindly as she could. The old woman nodded and kept walking, and Brienne hobbled her horse outside of the inn. 

"A room?" she asked the barkeep. "And a stable?"

The barkeep took in her appearance with a bit of confusion. "Aye, we have room, and a stall in the stable. Next to an ill-tempered beast if there ever was one, but there's space."

"It's only for a night. Are there many ships going north?"

"Begging your pardon, m'lady, but no." He blinked. "Pirates up that way."

"Pirates?"

"Lyseni, they say. Sail with Stannis Baratheon. He's taken up at the Wall."

She stifled a curse. Stannis had gone north. Which meant if Arya had gone north, she would run straight into him, and she didn't know what he would do with the only living trueborn child of Ned Stark in Westeros, or what ill could come of it. 

The barkeep took in her frustrated expression. "Ale?" he asked. 

"Just one," she agreed, and she sat down and watched a groom from the stable take her horse around back. If there were no ships to hire to take north, she'd have to ride north, and avoid the Bolton and Baratheon armies alike. A lone rider could do that, she thought, but it would be a hard road. 

"You haven't seen a girl of about fourteen recently, have you? Brown hair, bit of a northern look?" she asked. She felt eyes on her back. "Maybe a large man with a burn escorting her?" 

"I don't know nothing about no girl," he said, setting down her ale. "But we did get a big burnt fella here recently."

"How recently?" she asked.

"Yesterday, or so." The barkeep pointed, and Brienne turned and saw that she was being watched by a man in a dark hood that did little to obscure his immense size and his fearsome face. 

She raised her tankard to him and then drained it. He finished his own, much larger drink, and went outside. She followed, her hand itching towards Oathkeeper.

"Sandor Clegane, I take it?" she asked.

"Who the fuck's asking?" he growled back. 

"Brienne of Tarth," she said. "I've been charged by Lady Catelyn to bring her daughters to safety. Where is Arya Stark?" she demanded, trying not to sound afraid. 

"Safety," he said, with a cold laugh. "She's with her aunt and new uncle up in the Eyrie. I'm just waiting on a ship to take me to Braavos so I can finally fucking rest." He eyed her sword keenly. "Unless you're here to take me back to the Lannisters."

"I don't serve the Lannisters."

"Could've fooled me," he said, pulling his own sword out. 

"If what you said is true and Arya Stark is safe with her aunt, why didn't they tell me that when I arrived at the Bloody Gate?" she demanded. If he kept talking, they could avoid bloodshed in the middle of this town.

"I suppose Littlefinger doesn't want anyone to know he has her," he said. 

Brienne lowered her arms, letting go of Oathkeeper entirely. "I thought you said Arya was  _ safe _ ," she said accusingly. "Littlefinger betrayed her family.  _ He _ works for the Lannisters."

"Littlefinger doesn't work for anybody but Littlefinger, you dumb fucker."

"Is that supposed to make me feel  _ better _ ?"

Clegane let go of his sword as well, his expression less guarded as he scrutinized her. "You really want to help her?" he asked. 

"Yes. I swore a vow." And the world was cruel to little girls, and if she could protect even one of them, she would sleep easier at night. "Sansa is gone, beyond my helping, but if I can take Arya north to where she'd truly be safe…" 

"All right. Entertain me. How the fuck do you plan on getting into the Eyrie, then? It's impregnable."

Brienne thought about it. She'd only seen the castle from a distance, and she couldn't say for sure she could get into it when someone didn't want her to, but she had to try. "Ten good men and some climbing spikes, maybe."

"And where do you suppose we can find ten good --" Clegane stopped mid-sentence, and then he groaned. "Rest well, we'll leave at dawn and hope we can find the stupid fuckers."

"What? Who?" she asked, following him back into the inn, where he ordered more ale. He handed her the drink without answering her questions. 

"We aren't the only people looking for Arya Stark,  _ Ser _ ."


	21. JON II

"Theon," he said, when his father's old ward came into the room with water and fresh clothes. He was thirsty and tired. Had it been days or weeks? He didn't know. Theon didn't make eye contact with him. He only answered to Reek, and the more Jon saw of him, the more he saw how  _ broken  _ he had become. The smiling boy who had been half enemy and half older brother was gone.

He was still angry. Theon had betrayed Robb. He had taken Winterfell. What had made him hate the Starks?

In the lonely hours of the night, it plagued him. 

_ He's not so different than you,  _ his mind said.  _ A boy who wanted to be a Stark and never could. All you ever wanted. And you felt like you never would be and you hid away at the Wall.  _

Had Theon wanted to be one of them? Had their rejection done this? 

Theon never responded. How could he break him out of whatever the Boltons had done to him?

"Theon."

"Reek. Only Reek."

"You didn't kill Bran and Rickon," he said, his hoarse voice barely a whisper. Theon was removing his binding. Could he have gotten through to him? "Robb's heirs live. You burnt Winterfell but you didn't hurt the boys…" he said. "That means you're still in there." 

He shook his head and helped Jon stand. "No."

"You are."

"I didn't burn Winterfell," he said, his voice barely a whisper. He stared at Jon in shock as he helped him stand. "I'm.  _ No _ . I'm sorry. Lord Bolton wants to see you." He didn't say anything else, and Jon pulled away from his offered help, limping down the familiar winding halls of his home. He had never wanted to leave Winterfell as badly as he did now. It had been his home. Robb's home. 

_ Theon's home. _

And now it was a shell of itself. 

Lord Bolton sat at the end of a long table in the Great Hall, his Bastard to his right and his fat little wife to his left. 

"The Bastard of Winterfell," Roose Bolton said, in his slow cold voice, looking at him with pale eyes. The same eyes that Robb had seen before he died. Jon shuddered, wishing he had any kind of weapon. "What brings you to my halls?"

"You said it yourself, my lord," he said. "I'm the Bastard of  _ Winterfell _ , this is my home." He tilted up his chin in something like defiance. This cold lord would not unman him. 

"I thought Castle Black was your home," he said with a lofty eyebrow. "Have you truly deserted your brothers in black?" 

"I meant to return, but as you can see, I was waylaid," he said, deadpan. 

"As the Warden of the North, it's my responsibility to deal with deserters when the Lord Commander cannot," he said. "You would know this, having grown up with Ned Stark as your father." He paused. "So tell me, should I send you back to the Wall with a letter explaining that your absence was a simple misunderstanding, or should I send Alliser Thorne your head?" he asked.

Ramsay smirked. 

Jon blinked, slowly. He was dead no matter how he looked at it. Thorne would ignore a letter, even signed and sealed by the Warden of the North. Any excuse to get rid of him. If he could escape Winterfell, Tormund would shelter him, wouldn't he? "I assume that I can't just ask nicely for that letter."

"Where are Bran and Rickon Stark?" 

"Dead, aren't they? Killed by Theon Greyjoy?" 

"You know that isn't true. Bran and Rickon are alive. Rickon Stark arrived at the Wall alone, and there is rumor in the north that Brandon Stark went beyond the Wall. If the heirs to the north are produced, your life can surely be spared," he said, tapping his long fingers against the chair. 

Jon was tired, standing after spending so long strapped down and unable to do so. "My brothers are dead," he insisted. "Winterfell belongs to my sister." 

"Your sister is dead, too, Lord Commander Snow," Roose said, and Ramsay hooted with laughter behind him. "Sansa was murdered by the Imp. They suspect she knew he meant to kill King Joffrey, and tried to stop him," he said. He was smiling at Jon's slack-jawed horror now. 

Sansa was dead? Tyrion would never…this had to be some sort of trick or trap. He wouldn't have hurt Sansa. He was a good man, he was Jon's  _ friend.  _ But... Rickon and Bran were out of his reach...and his little sisters… Could they truly both be dead? "Then Winterfell would pass to Edmure Tully's children, or Lord Robin of the Vale." The Karstarks were dead, Robb had made sure of that. There were no Starks left. "Lady Catelyn's family." 

"Winterfell belongs to the Boltons," Ramsay sneered. 

"Winterfell belongs to the  _ Starks _ ." 

"And as far as I see it, you're the last Stark. Tywin Lannister is dead. The Seven Kingdoms are ruled by a meek boy and his mother, and they will offer nothing to the north. Robb Stark died because he was a weak ruler. I mean to rule the north and rule it well. Without the Lannisters, having the northern heirs is the only thing that would keep the north from falling into chaos." 

Jon knew he was listening to the rambling of a madman, a murderer, a turncloak, and yet. He couldn't stop himself from listening. 

"I have no intention of hurting my subjects. Least of all your brothers. They will be treated kindly, if they cooperate and help me maintain peace in the kingdom." 

Ramsay's glare to his father was sharp. 

Jon raised an eyebrow at the break in composure. "As kindly as you've treated Theon and I?" he asked sharply, looking over at Theon hiding against a far wall. He cringed. "The Heir to the Iron Islands, the last living son of Ned Stark...you don't seem to do well by your prisoners, my lord." 

Roose's nostrils flared. "Rickon and Bran are alive, and I would beg you not treat me as though I'm some sort of soft-headed child. They are the heirs to House Stark. If I have a daughter, I will marry them into our family, or to one of my dear wife's sisters or nieces. They will not be harmed. They will unify our fractured kingdom." 

So Ramsay wasn't a leashed dog, he thought. He's rabid and even his lord father, for all his terror, cannot control him. Whatever promises he made about Rickon's safety were never going to come true. Ramsay would kill them all to inherit the north himself. 

"I'll allow you the evening to think it over. Consider your brothers, Jon Snow. Their lives, and the lives of Ned Stark's subjects that he loved so dearly," he said. 

Father had always said he feared for every man woman and child in the north as if they were his own. Was sparing them from the fighting kinder? 

"And when we unify the north, we will purge our lands of the wildling scum you love so much," Ramsay said, pushing him back into Theon, who led him back to his room. 

"Theon…" 

"Reek." 

He was not tied up in his cell this time, simply locked in. He held onto Theon's hand through the bars, not letting him go. "Reek," he said slowly. "Who burned Winterfell?" 

"He did," he said, his voice barely a whisper. " _ Ramsay _ ."

A horn shattered the silence. 

"Stannis," Jon said. He kept his grip on Theon's sleeve. He had betrayed Robb, but he hadn't killed their brothers or burnt their home. He was still Theon, deep down, somewhere, and despite the enmity between them, he knew they were all they had. 

"A battle?" he asked, his voice breaking. 

"Stannis doesn't have the supplies for a siege," Jon said. "But they may be distracted enough for us to escape," he said insistently. "Rickon is alive and I know where he is. We need to find him. If Stannis falls to Roose… We cannot let him get Rickon." He didn't know how much more of Ramsay's torment he could endure before he broke the way he had broken Theon.

Theon looked too afraid to move, and Jon squeezed tighter.

"Theon. Please. Robb is dead. Sansa is dead. Arya...is probably dead too…" 

"She's not…" he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I heard them talking…"

Jon blinked. "What?"

The horns rang out again, the shout of men preparing for battle above them. 

"They found Arya...they're bringing her north to marry Ramsay…" he said. "They won't let Rickon or Bran live. Ramsay won't let  _ any  _ of them live. He'll get a son on Arya and kill her too." His breath shuddered and he pressed his forehead against the bars of Jon's cell. 

Jon leaned in, his forehead against them too. "Then we need to find Arya before she gets to Winterfell," he said. "You betrayed Robb, but you can help me save them. You can help me keep Rickon safe. I  _ know  _ you can. They're all that's left of Robb."

Theon's eyes widened. "How?" he whispered.

"Remember when we used to sneak out of the castle as children?" 


	22. ARYA II

The Vale was beautiful and cold and above all,  _ boring.  _ Lysa didn't let her carry Needle, so she couldn't even train. She'd tried to get one of her knights to take it from her, but Littlefinger had stepped in. He pulled aside and told her to keep it in her chambers and let Lysa believe she no longer had it. 

Her cousin Robin wasn't what she expected either. She knew he was of an age with Bran, and she had hoped he would be like Bran had been. Sweet and charming and thoughtful. Robin was wrathful and loud and cried for his mother and nursed all the time. She tried to be kind to him in spite of that, because they were blood, but it was hard.

Aunt Lysa spent time telling her of her mother and their childhood at Riverrun, how she'd loved lemon cakes, the way Sansa had, and how fiercely they'd loved each other.

_ So why didn't you help us? _ she thought to herself. The Knights of the Vale could have saved Robb, if Lysa had truly meant anything she said. They could break the siege upon Riverrun. They could have turned the tide half a hundred times. 

She didn't want to be sent away from her only family, so she kept silent. 

"Arya, child, come sit with me," Lysa said after she had put Robin down for bed. She poured Arya a cup of wine, which surprised her. 

Was she going to poison her? 

"There's something I must tell you, before you hear it from crueler mouths," she said, her high voice wavering and sad. "We received word…" she said. "Your sister is dead." 

Arya froze. "What?" 

"Lady Sansa was...murdered by the Imp. Just before he murdered Joffrey." She sobbed theatrically into a kerchief stitched with the mockingbird sigil of Lord Baelish. "Petyr believes maybe she discovered his scheme to kill King Joffrey and meant to warn someone."

She wouldn't have. Sansa hated Joffrey after what he did to their father. She would have welcomed his death...right? 

What did it matter? She was dead, now. 

"I...thank you for telling me, Aunt Lysa," she said as her aunt wrapped her up in a tight embrace. 

"You'll be safe here, far away from those terrible Lannisters. You'll marry Robin and he'll rule the Vale…" 

She was too dark into her despair to protest such a thing. She had no intention of wedding that soft, spoiled boy. She didn't want to be Lady of the Vale. She wanted Father and Mother. She wanted Bran and Rickon. She wanted Jon Snow, and she wanted  _ Sansa.  _

Was she truly all that was left? 

She excused herself, hiding in her room before the bitter tears had begun to fall. The anger burnt into her. She'd kill the Imp herself. The Imp and Walder Frey and Roose Bolton and all the rest, too. She wished Sandor was with her. He had protected Sansa once, too. Maybe he would be angry like she was, maybe he would help her. 

Why had she come to this place? 

She felt so alone. 

Night fell in the Vale, and she laid there sleepless, and looked at the window and saw fluffs of white falling from the sky. Snow. It made her long for home even more as she padded down the stairs and out into the courtyard. She watched the snow alone for a long time. 

Voices carried over the quiet landscape, and she dipped behind a spindly tree. 

"Send it in the morning, the snows won't last long," she heard Petyr Baelish say quietly. Why would he be sending a raven in the middle of the night? What could be so important? Arya wasn't sure what she thought of Lord Baelish, he gave her a wide berth most of the time. He had told her about the Hound, and he had talked with Lord Tywin in Harrenhal, but other than that...she didn't know. 

She felt suspicious now, though. Sending a raven without the knowledge of his Lady Wife? In the middle of a dark snowy night? She slipped into the castle, quiet as a shadow, listening for his footsteps disappearing back up to Lysa's chambers. She followed the other way, the receding footsteps of the Maester. She had been to his chambers before, when Lord Robin had needed his sweetsleep one night. She waited by the door until she no longer heard the footsteps 

A neatly rolled scroll sat on the table, and Arya slipped in and reached for it, hoping that the Maester fell asleep quickly. Gently prying open the wax seal, she skimmed over the spiky, neat hand of Lord Baelish.

_ Lord Bolton,  _

_ Lady Stark arrived a fortnight ago. She is settled in well. The Lords of the Vale are not eager to leave the safety of their mountains, but with Tywin Lannister dead, they have little and less to fear, as you are aware. I will bring Lady Stark to you, and help you win the north. The Queen has wished to wed her loyal Boltons to a Stark to strengthen the loyalty in the north.  _

_ We will depart from the Vale within the fortnight.  _

_ Petyr Baelish. _

Arya read it again and again. Petyr Baelish meant to sell her to the Boltons for the Queen. But...Lysa hated the Lannisters...she would never let her Lord Husband leave the Vale...certainly not take any of her men...and not on behalf of Cersei. 

Arya wished she had stayed with Sandor. She couldn't stop herself. She raced to Lady Lysa's rooms and burst in. She took a deep breath. "Aunt."

"Arya? What is it?" she asked, sounding irritated and sleepy, her false voice falling away for a moment.

"I need to speak with you, privately," she said. 

Littlefinger was sitting up, pulling on his dressing gown, as Lysa did the same. 

"What is it, child?" she asked, annoyed. 

"It's…my blood...I…" she lied, unable to think of any other excuse that would keep Littlefinger from following her. 

Lysa's irritation faded into concern as she swept from the room with an arm around her shoulder. "I know this must be strange for you, but I'll have the handmaidens bring you fresh linens and I'll have the Maester find you something for the pain…" she rambled maternally before Arya pivoted out of her grip. 

"Aunt Lysa, Lord Petyr is going to betray you...I lied about my blood...I wanted to speak to you alone…" she said.

"You must have had a bad dream, Arya, don't speak such nonsense. Petyr loves me," Lysa said, her eyes widening. "Yes, a nightmare. I'll have the Maester give you sweet sleep."

"It wasn't a nightmare, Aunt Lysa," she insisted, pulling the scroll out of her pocket and thrusting it into her aunt's trembling hands. 

She read it thrice, her face paling. " _ No _ . You're meant to stay here and wed Robin. He knows. He knows that. Why would he do this to me? He cannot take the knights of the Vale north…" she was muttering to herself.

"You need to send him away," Arya said. "He means to betray you. Betray us. He wants to help the Lannisters. They killed my mother and brother and sister and he wants to help them!"

" _ Guards! _ " she shrieked, her voice shattering across the stone of the throne room. "Bring my husband to me."

Arya cringed as the guards approached and nodded, disappearing briefly, and reappearing with Littlefinger, still half-asleep between them.

"Lysa, is something amiss?" he asked, reaching for his wife tenderly. 

"Open the Moon Door and leave us," she said sharply to the guards. The wind howled as they obeyed their Lady's commands. When they left, she held the scroll up to his face. "What is this?"

"What do you mean?"

"In your own hand you pledge to give Arya to the Boltons, as the  _ Queen  _ desired. You pledge the knights of the Vale to their cause. We  _ agreed _ , Petyr. Arya and my men stay here with us. To keep us  _ safe _ ," she said, trembling like a leaf.

Littlefinger's eyes cut over to where Arya sat, cold and calculated. "Wife...this must be…"

"It's your own hand," she insisted. "I know your writings. You wrote me so many letters, Petyr. I kept them all. I...you cannot mean to betray me...after all I've done for you. I killed my husband for you...I told my sister it was the Lannisters."

Cold realization washed over Ayra. If it hadn't been for Lysa, they would have never gone south. Her family would have never died. If she had truly killed Jon Arryn...it was all her. She wished she had Needle. She could skewer both of them right now. 

"And you mean to betray me? Why? Don't you love me? We made a child together Petyr, don't you remember? Father killed him but he's dead now, too. Catelyn is dead now. Jon Arryn too. No one stands between us anymore. Why would you do this? I love you. Don't you love me?"

She stumbled backwards and Littlefinger followed her, reaching out to take her in his arms. 

"My lady wife," he said. "I've only ever loved one woman." He wiped the tear away from her cheek as she smiled an achingly sad smile, reaching for him as he stepped away. "Only Cat."

And he shoved her back, and she disappeared through the Moon Door. 

Arya ran to Littlefinger, thinking to push him too just as the guards rushed in at the sound of Lysa's scream. 

"Guards! My lady wife. She has fallen," he said, grabbing Arya around the shoulders. "My niece is distraught. Escort her to her room."

Arya had no choice but to obey. She didn't even have the dagger Sandor had given her with her and they all had swords and armor. 

She waited all night and all day, locked in her room. She could hear Robin crying, echoing through the castle. She wished he would stop. Her own tears had gone dry now, and she just wished to be free. 

Littlefinger came to her two nights after. 

"You think yourself very clever," he said. 

"No," she lied, reaching for Needle. 

He raised a hand. "You could kill me, it's true. You'd never make it out of the Eyrie alive, and the Lords of the Vale are making the climb here as we speak." He was unarmed and unguarded, and she relaxed her sword hand. 

"Why did you do it?"

"Lysa...she would have killed us both if I hadn't. She would never leave this mountain, and for that...the realm would suffer. Your family would suffer. You heard her. She killed Jon Arryn and started the cycle that killed your father and brother. She has always been...fragile...but in recent years she has become cruel."

Arya narrowed her eyes. "She  _ was  _ my family. My  _ only  _ family." She had not been a good woman, but she had been family. But...

"And she is the reason they're all dead, her and Cersei Lannister and Roose Bolton. Don't you want to avenge your family? You  _ true  _ family, your mother and father and sister?" he asked. 

She stayed silent.

"When I arrived in the Vale I was greeted by the head of a man I had sent to take Sansa away from the capitol, to bring here to safety. The Imp and his cutthroat killed him, and then killed your sister too when she wouldn't consummate her marriage to the Imp."

Arya pointed. "Why would you take her away if you're working for the Queen?"

"I loved your mother. Since her death I've been waiting. Waiting for the opportunity for vengeance. Just as you have. I wished to rescue Sansa from them, and now I mean to keep you away from them too. For Catelyn. We will ride north within the fortnight as I told Lord Bolton. And we will get the revenge we both seek against the people who have wronged us. I just need your silence, Lady Arya."

Arya thought about it. She would never make it north alone, and she didn't know if she'd be able to find Sandor. But...if she went with him… she could kill Roose Bolton herself.

"I'll be quiet," she said.

_ For now. _


	23. ROS III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a very very very short chapter so...double update

"Lady Ros of Winter's Town," a musically accented voice called from across the plaza. A woman with a teardrop tattooed under her eye waved her over with a painted hand. "You seek the Spider?" she asked.

She nodded. 

"Good. Take this note to the docks on the morning, to a man called Tyvet, he is captaining the ship you will hire for the Spider," she said.

Ros wasn't sure what to make of anything that had happened in the past fortnight. She almost wished she'd stayed with Bronn, or gone with Jeyne. Volantis was sprawling and beautiful, and alive, and she had been there two days. She had spoken to a red priestess who seemed to know she was seeking passage to the dragon queen. She had guided her to this marketplace. 

"Thank you," she said, but the woman vanished into the crowd without acknowledging her.

She wasn't sure what she was looking for here, but she thought she'd found it when she found priests preaching about a Savior. The Dragon Queen was the Savior of the world, they said. She struck the chains off of slaves. Her enemies died screaming, and she would win the battle for the dawn. 

She didn't know what to make of any of that, but she would ask Lord Varys when they saw each other again, she supposed. She found a brothel near the docks. She didn't have much coin, but she had enough for a bed, especially one empty of a man or woman. 

The barmaid spoke enough Common to get her a goblet of wine and agreement that she could have a bed for the night. She wondered if Lord Tyrion and all the rest had arrived yet. "I'm looking for a spider and a dwarf," she said to the woman, watching a woman in a white wig and a dress that exposed every important part walked by. 

"The dragon queen!" a drunk sailor shouted delightedly. 

Somehow, Ros doubted it. 

"You want a Dwarf for the night?" the barmaid asked.

"Oh, no, no. I'm looking for my friends. A dwarf with yellow hair, and a eunuch," she said, laughing. 

"Not here."

"Thank you," she said, adding a small coin to the pile and taking her wine. She watched the men as they grew rowdier and drunker over the night, the girls pawed at, shrieking and giggling. She didn't miss that life, she thought. Somehow, speaking to priests and whores and seeking out Saviors felt so much...more. She hardly felt worthy of it. 

The bed she'd procured wasn't comfortable, but she'd slept on worse, and all of the travel had worn her down. She was happy to just sleep, the sounds of a brothel almost soothingly familiar. 

Ros woke from her dreams with the creeping feeling she was being watched. She looked up and saw a man that she vaguely remembered from downstairs looming over her. "I'm not one of the girls here," she said as he grabbed her by the wrist and snatched her from the bed. 

"Cooperate," he growled in a low voice, a knife brandished at her.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded as he dragged her from the brothel, shoeless and half-dressed. In the dim glow of the early morning she saw that he had to be Westerosi. 

"To the Queen." 

No. No. She couldn't go back to Cersei. She  _ couldn't _ .


	24. JEYNE V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the show casting for areo hotah was very hot that is all

Sailing to Dorne had been peaceful, and the Water Gardens were beautiful. They arrived at the port and disembarked the ship, greeted by Dornish men with long spears and their heads covered from the sun. They bowed. 

"Prince Doran has been awaiting your arrival," one of the guards said with a faint accent. They stayed close together as they followed them to their destination. Children played in the fountains and flowers and viney plants seemed to bloom everywhere. 

"It's gorgeous," Sansa said, as they stood amongst the flowers, awaiting audience with the Prince of Dorne. 

A large, dark skinned man with a huge weapon at his side approached them. "Prince Doran will receive you on the morning, for today, allow my men to escort you to your chambers, Lady Sansa...and beg pardon, I do not know you." 

"Jenny of the Blackwater," she said. "And this is my aunt, Lady Shae," she said quickly. "We are handmaidens of Lady Sansa." 

"I am Areo Hotah, the captain of the Prince's guard. Follow me," he said, inclining his bald head to her, a handsome smile on his face. Their rooms were much like the ones they had stayed in in Pentos; airy and light, with breezy fabric curtains, and piles of silken pillows. 

They supped in their room, and when someone brought their food, she noticed the guards outside the door. 

"Are we prisoners?" Jeyne asked quietly.

"We'll always be prisoners," Sansa said, a little dismissive. "I don't blame them for not trusting us. I don't trust them either." 

Shae nodded. "She's right. But...it's nice here," she said. "It seems like the war hasn't touched this place," she added longingly. 

Jeyne hadn't thought of it that way, and as she looked out over the gardens, she felt a sense of peace she hadn't felt since they'd left Pentos. She was afraid now that she was back in Westeros. Afraid of what could happen if Cersei found them again, even as far south as south goes. 

She missed Bronn. She felt safe with Bronn. She could have never left Sansa, but maybe she should have convinced her to go to Meereen with them. Maybe they have been safer… 

"Sers," Sansa said sweetly to the guards outside their door. "Might I trouble the Maester to send three Ravens for me?" she asked. 

One of the guards nodded and walked off, and Sansa pulled a quill out of her bag, laying out some parchment and writing three messages. 

"Are those the letters Lord Varys wanted you to send?" Shae asked her. 

"Yes and no. He wanted me to write to Lord Manderly and Lord Royce," she said quietly. "I've written to Lord Royce, yes, but also Lady Lyanna Mormont of Bear Island, and Ser Bryndyn, my mother's uncle who holds Riverrun," she said. "I do not mean to hold to Lord Varys's wishes, I mean to go to Winterfell and retake my home from those who have harmed it, and rescue my sister." 

Jeyne was impressed by her cleverness, but wondered what that meant for their lives when Daenerys sailed to Westeros. Would this be a betrayal? What did she hope to gain? To crush Littlefinger, of course, and the Freys, and the Boltons and Lannisters? Even as fierce as Dorne was, it wouldn't be enough. 

She sealed each letter with a wax seal; the charging direwolf of her house, but in the deep crimson wax that she'd taken from Illyrio Mopatis. The red of the Tullys, or the red of blood. The Maester came and took them from her, and she explained who they were meant for, without elaborating on her intentions. 

In the morning, they broke their fast with Prince Doran. He was older, seated in a wheeled chair, his legs covered by heavy blankets despite the heat. 

"Lord Varys sent this letter of introduction," she said, passing a sealed scroll to Doran. He read it quietly, as he seemed to do everything. 

As he was reading, a commotion outside of the great hall distracted them. Four young women burst in, all Dornish in look, followed by a young man who resembled Prince Doran, but a little less handsome. 

"Father, I tried to stop them --" he blurted out. 

"It's all right, Quentyn. Lady Sansa, I do hope you'll forgive the intrusion," he said, holding a hand out to her. She rose and Jeyne joined her, both curtsying to the new arrivals at their meal. Four women, all tan and dark haired, except one who had hair the color of honey. 

"Lady Sansa, Lady Jenny," he said. "May I introduce my daughter, the heir of Dorne, Princess Arianne," he said, gesturing to a tall woman with curly hair and a jeweled circlet resting on her temple. "My son, Prince Quentyn, and my nieces, daughters to my brother Prince Oberyn, Obara, Nymeria and Tyene Sand, also called the Sand Snakes." 

"My Princess, My Prince, my ladies," Sansa said gracefully. "I am glad to make your acquaintance." 

"I suppose I must invite them to meet with us, Lady Sansa, do forgive their intrusion," he said, gesturing for his family to sit. 

"I do not mind," she said, but Jeyne could see the irritation in her face. She put a hand over hers as they both sat back down.

"It may be well for me to tell you what's happened in Westeros since your departure," he said. "Before you entertain me with Varys's spiderweb of tales." His tone was droll but his smile was not unkind. "After the death of Lord Tywin, Cersei Lannister quickly sought to take back power." He paused. "She has armed a band of religious zealots who call themselves the Sparrows. The Faith Militant of old has come back to King's Landing," he said. 

"And imprisoned our father," interrupted the eldest Sand Snake, Obara, said, her voice nearly a hiss. 

Doran looked aggrieved, nodding. "Yes."

"Prince Oberyn has been imprisoned?" Sansa asked, looking at Jeyne. Tyrion had said that Oberyn had helped him escape King's Landing...could Cersei have known? Had Tyrion told Oberyn of any of their plan? Did Cersei know? 

"On charges of adultery and fornication. Queen Margaery and her brother the Knight of the Flowers have been as well," Doran said with a scoff. "Cersei has offered us  _ terms _ ." The scroll was sitting in front of him, a broken lion seal on it. 

All of the Sand Snakes were looking at them, and Jeyne felt herself reaching unconsciously for Bronn's knife. Cersei would certainly give a Prince of Dorne back for the chance to have the Heir to Winterfell, wouldn't she? What if she knew, and they had fallen neatly into her trap? She couldn't go back… 

Doran smiled at them as they squirmed. "She wishes to have her daughter, the Princess Myrcella, returned to her, in exchange for Prince Oberyn and his paramour Ellaria Sand's safe return," he said. "But Myrcella is quite happy here, and is promised to my son Trystane. You see my dilemma, I'm sure. I have asked her if she wants to return, but she will not consent to breaking her betrothal, which is one of her mother's conditions." 

Sansa nodded, squeezing Jeyne's hand. They both sagged with relief, but tried to stay straight-backed and proud. "The Lannisters have your brother. The Lannisters are our common enemy." 

"Lord Varys wrote to say you were here on behalf of Daenerys Targaryen," Prince Doran said shrewdly. "I had been planning for the Targaryen's return for quite some time. I had even meant to send Quentyn as an envoy, until I received word you were coming." 

Sansa straightened. "I...am… in a way. With your brother's help, Lord Tyrion was able to escape King's Landing and now sails for Meereen, to advise Daenerys Targaryen on her return to Westeros," she said. "Lord Varys wishes for me to ask for your swords when Daenerys Targaryen sets sail." 

Jeyne turned sharply. She felt a 'but' coming. They hadn't discussed what Sansa truly planned to say.

Princess Arianne tilted her head, interested. "And what do you want, Lady Sansa?" 

"Waiting for Daenerys will be too late for Prince Oberyn," she said. "She could be months or longer. She could choose not to sail for Westeros at all. But Dorne has stayed out of the War of the Five King's so far. You have resources," she said. "Our enemies are the same, Prince Doran. The Queen destroyed my family, like Tywin destroyed yours. Cersei holds your Prince and the Lannisters have besieged my mother's girlhood home." 

The Sand Snakes were gaping at her with open interest, and even Jeyne could not say she knew what Sansa was getting at. 

Sansa smirked. "March on King's Landing, with all your might to take the Prince back." 

"That would be foolhardy. Even untouched by the war, we do not have the numbers to besiege King's Landing," he said, a hand to silence Obara, who couldn't hide her enthusiasm for the plan on her stern face. 

Jeyne hoped whatever Sansa was scheming worked. 

"If it's true that Cersei has imprisoned Queen Margaery...Olenna Tyrell rules in Highgarden more than her son or grandson, the heir," she said. "And Lady Olenna is a friend to me. I know I've only just arrived...but allow me to take an offer to Lady Olenna. Dorne and Highgarden can put old grudges aside for the sake of the people they love, who the Lannisters have endangered and besmirched." 

Princess Arianne looked to her father, her beautiful face alight with interest, her cousins all staring, waiting. Jeyne thought that even if Doran didn't agree, his heir would. 

"You're suggesting we ally with Highgarden and attack King's Landing?" he asked. "It's still foolhardy. Even with a strong navy, Stannis was unable to besiege King's Landing even for a night, and the Tyrells loathes us, and quite frankly, the feeling is mutual."

Sansa smirked at Jeyne.

"The Dornish army should march north and meet the Reach. Much of Cersei's forces are besieging Riverrun, are they not? Trapping the remaining Riverlords." 

"So King's Landing is undefended!" Obara Sand said, her fist thumping against the table. 

"She'll pull her forces back to the city as soon as she gets wind that we're making our way up the Boneway," Doran said, shaking his head.

"Yes," Sansa said. "She will." 

Jeyne watched the venerable Prince as he considered the Lady of Winterfell, impressed, her plan becoming clear to all at the table. 


	25. BRONN VIII

Volantis was a city brimming with whores, but the whore he sought was conspicuously absent. He had gone into the city with Podrick, leaving an incredibly impatient and bored Tyrion moaning in the cabin, tormenting Varys. They had to keep a low profile, and despite Tyrion's low profile, he was a noticeable figure, so he stayed behind. 

Podrick and Bronn just looked like travelers, a father and son stopping into port. He went to all the people Varys had told him too, and they had all claimed to have seen Ros, but the ship she was meant to hire was not in port, and she was nowhere in the city.

"Are we going to wait for Lady Ros, Ser?" Podrick asked, looking anxious. 

Bronn sighed. "I doubt it," he said. 

Meereen seemed much more important, to Varys, than one whore in a city of thousands of them. Varys had more little birds than he knew what to do with, losing one of them probably meant nothing to him. But, well. 

She was his  _ wife _ . Didn't that make him responsible for her? 

She could handle herself. Might be they had gotten in too late and she and their ship had both left without them. They  _ had  _ found themselves delayed by the bad roads and easily bored Tyrion.

"She's not in the city," he told Varys when they reentered the carriage. "She was seen by all the people you said she'd be seen by, but no ship and no Ros." 

Varys looked aggrieved. "I suppose we'll book alternative accommodations to Meereen," he said. "Perhaps the ship left without us and she'll have beaten us there." He didn't sound like he believed it, but he seemed like he wanted to. 

Tyrion took a sip of his wine. "This is troubling. I hope that…" 

"I don't think your sister was involved, my lord," Varys said. "She's quite occupied, from what whispers I've heard from Westeros. She's created a Faith Militant." 

"Good gods," Tyrion said, laughing. "Of course she did." 

"She's alienated Highgarden and Dorne, and Littlefinger's loyalty will only go so far. She'll lose the Vale before long, and the North with it, if our suspicion of Petyr's intentions are true." Varys seemed quite pleased with this turn of events. Certainly, it did offer them some relief that the Queen was too busy to come after them, but he hoped she was too busy to go after Jeyne and Sansa, too. "The Kingdoms will flock to a more suitable ruler as soon as one is available."

"Like Stannis?" 

"Stannis has marched on Winterfell, but winter snows slow him. It's not likely he'd be able to make it south to King's Landing in time to turn the tide in his own favor, to seize the unrest of the other kingdoms," Varys said with some contempt. "Westeros is in chaos, and Queen Daenerys will be able to rebuild it from Cersei's ashes." 

" _ If _ she wants to leave Meereen," Tyrion said. 

"She will. She must."

Podrick looked uneasily at Bronn, who shrugged. 

"The road is more dangerous than the sea between here and Meereen, but I suppose we will take the road," Varys said with a grumpy sigh.

"You mean to take us through Mantarys? Is that not a city full of monstrously deformed cannibals?" Tyrion demanded, and Podrick gave a squawk of indignation.

"Yes, and friends to Slaver's Bay, therefore no friend to the Breaker of Chains," Varys agreed, his voice turning ominous. 

Podrick did not seem keen on the idea of a city of monster cannibals, and frankly Bronn could not spend a month in a carriage with these fools. 

"Why don't we get another ship?" he asked.

"Our resources are somewhat limited, Ser Bronn, it could take weeks to find a captain who would sail us to Meereen for the gold we have with us." 

"Gods, Varys, for all your scheming, you sure are boring," he said, rolling his eyes. "We'll just steal one of these poor fucker's fishing boats and be on our way." With that, he jumped out of the carriage. "Come on. I saw a few by the docks that should suffice." 

Podrick hustled to follow him, and he turned back to see Varys and Tyrion behind. The sun was setting on Volantis, as gas flames lit up all around the city. The docks were quieter at night, and it wasn't hard to spot a small vessel that was unmanned at the moment, moored on the far end of the port. 

It had been a long time since he'd sailed, but he thought he could figure it out. It wasn't that far to Slaver's Bay, if the map Varys kept fussing over was any indication. He waved them across the dock and onto the ship, and cut the rope mooring it to the dock as he crossed the plank. The winds started moving it almost immediately, thank the Gods, and he managed to get them out of the bay without sinking the thing, which he thought was worthy of some praise.

"Quick thinking, Ser Bronn," Varys said appraisingly. 

"Where would you be without me?" he asked Tyrion. 

"Probably long dead," he said as he rubbed his legs. They were all sore from their time in Varys's stupid carriage. 

"Podrick, you'll have to learn how to sail," Bronn declared. "Can you do that?" 

"I- I don't know, Ser," he said, wide-eyed. 

Bronn laughed. "You'll figure it out."

The sea and the sky were black as they turned east to Meereen, towards the Dragon Queen, and Bronn tried to focus on the salt air and the cool winds, and not what mess he had allowed himself to get dragged into. But Tyrion walked over, smiled, and handed him the wineskin, and he found he wasn't so angry about it. He would be a High Lord before too long, right? 


	26. BRIENNE II

Brienne wasn't sure what possessed her to trust Sandor Clegane. But he was honest. Honest to the point of open cruelty, really, which was a blessing to her. She had always struggled with people who meant to be clever or tricky, and he was neither.

He made for an unconventional travel companion, but he could hunt and build a fire, and didn't expect much in the way of conversation. They had been traveling for a week, and she figured that if he meant to lure her into a trap, he would have done it by now. 

They had made their way into the Riverlands. He didn't say who they were looking for, only that they were looking for a 'brotherhood'. He didn't seem pleased with it, but she thought he was never pleased by anything, so was that really so surprising? 

He had not done anything unkind towards her, other than growl and snark and swear, and she was used to such things. He didn't judge her, which was odd. 

They slept near each other at night, but not too close, so she woke first when she heard the branches cracking in the night. She startled, and found a sword pointed in her face. She reached for Oathkeeper by her side. 

"Clegane," she hissed. "Clegane!" 

Sandor started, jerking awake mid-snore. He sat up and looked at the men who had encircled their makeshift camp as they'd slept. "It's about fucking time you found us, you lazy piece of shit," he growled. 

A torch ignited.

"Who is this?" a man asked. 

"Brienne of Tarth," she said, standing up, still ready to draw her weapon as her eyes adjusted to the flickering light provided. 

"Thoros of Myr," the man with the torch said.

"Brienne of Tarth. I know you," a man with a low voice said. It seemed familiar, but from a long time ago. "Your father is sworn to House Baratheon just as mine was," he said. "Lord Beric Dondarrion." 

"Lord Beric?" she asked, feeling stupid. "I heard you were dead." 

"Once or twice," he laughed. 

"What is this?" she asked. There were a dozen men around them, in tattered clothes and bits of dented armor. 

"The Brotherhood without Banners, my lady," Lord Beric said. "Were you looking for us?" 

She looked over to Clegane, waiting for him to answer. She didn't know why they had come to find a band of outlaws to help them rescue Lady Arya. She hadn't bothered to ask. "Arya Stark needs our help," he said.

"Why?" a new voice demanded, younger. Brienne's heart dropped as she saw a boy who could have been Lord Renly. But he was a decade younger and broader in the shoulders… Still it was eerie. "You're the one who bloody kidnapped her, Clegane." 

"Don't be brave, boy, I'll cave your bloody skull in," Sandor growled. "I ransomed her to her Aunt in the Eyrie," he said. "But Littlefinger was there, and she ain't safe with Littlefinger. So come on, we're riding for the Eyrie to get her back." 

"Are we?" Thoros of Myr asked in an idle tone. 

"We need to ride north anyway," Beric said to him, sounding plaintive. "It might be a worthy cause…" 

The other members of the Brotherhood were murmuring amongst themselves, and Brienne caught how suspiciously they regarded Sandor.

"We'll speak of it in the morning," Lord Beric said. "How about we share your camp for the night?" 

"Why do they mistrust you?" she asked Sandor in a low voice as the men of the Brotherhood shuffled around, setting up bedrolls and finding places to settle down for the night.

"I killed Lord Beric in single combat," he said with a shrug. 

"What? He's right there." 

"It's a long story, best told with ale," Beric said.

"Or rum," Thoros agreed. Some of their men stood guard through the night but she felt ill at ease and didn't rest with all these strange men around her. 

"The Eyrie is impenetrable," Beric said as they found the eastern road again. "How do you think we'll manage to get up there?"

"You  _ can't die _ ," Sandor said. "Sending you up the mountain would be easiest."

"That's not how it works, Clegane," Lord Beric said. "You know that's not how it works." 

"I don't understand," Brienne finally interjected, irritated with the bickering. She had no concept of what had transpired between them and if it didn't help them save Arya Stark she didn't much care. 

"Lord Beric can't be killed," Sandor said. "Thoros's kisses can raise the dead," he explained. She looked at Thoros. She knew of him, as most did, because he was a skilled warrior, a friend to King Robert, and a drunken old fool. No one had ever said anything about him being magical, or whatever. He didn't much look like a wizard, except for the beard maybe.

"The Lord of Light keeps Beric alive," he corrected gamely. 

Brienne stiffened. "Isn't that the fire god that Stannis worships?" she asked, thinking of the shadow with his face...and Renly's cold body. Who had she found herself amongst?

"Aye. But we have no interest in Stannis's war. We only wish to help the smallfolk and those who are in need, my lady." He seemed to mean it. 

"Just Brienne," she said. 

They rode all day, and when they made camp that night, Brienne noticed their numbers had dwindled. "Many of our men will stay in the riverlands to fight the Freys," he said. "They were displaced by the Red Wedding. The Freys have corrupted this land, violating guest right the way they did." Beric's low voice was unsettling, but not nearly as unsettling as his scarred temple and his gouged eye, hidden behind a leather patch. 

He truly did look dead. 

Thoros sat next to him, his leg draped careless over Beric's knee as he drank from a skin and stared at the flames. He didn't look like Stannis's red woman, he just looked like a man in a faded pink cloak. 

As he watched the flames, his bored gaze focused. "Clegane, come here," he said. 

Sandor didn't sit close to the fire. Brienne didn't understand much about him, but she had built all the fires in their week together. He was burnt. Was he afraid? 

He inched closer and Thoros sighed. "I'm not going to shove you into it, you great fool, come here," he said. 

Sandor hunched down next to Thoros and looked at the flames. "It's just my fucking luck. Fucking fire worshippers."

"Tell me what you see," Thoros said. 

Brienne tried to focus on the dancing flames. Was he claiming to see visions in the fire? But even as the skepticism floated through her thoughts, she felt like she saw something. A ruined castle -- barely a castle. A fort? A girl in a dark cloak riding a horse. A mockingbird rested on her shoulder. 

_ Arya? _

"I don't think we'll find Arya Stark at the Eyrie," Thoros said, sighing. "We need to go north." 

A wolf howled, shattering the eerie silence around them, and Brienne was suddenly staring at orange flames and nothing else. 


	27. ROS IV

When the light of day made the scene clearer, she was surprised to see that her captor was not only Westerosi, but most certainly a northman. She was gagged and bound as she sat against a barrel, in a stolen sailboat. He had a bear on his chestplate, a stern, sun-beaten face. She tried to work the gag off.

He watched her for a moment and then, with a begrudging sigh, he pulled the gag down. She should have bitten his hand. 

"Ser, perhaps we could come to some agreement," she said, trying to slip back into Ros The Whore's voice. "I don't know what value you think I have to the Queen, but I promise it's none." 

"I'll let her judge that," he said. "You asked about the Imp and the Spider. You work for the Iron Throne," he said. 

"Wait. Stop," she said. He looked at her sharply. 

She never forgot a face. Her time in Winter's Town meant she had met a lot of Northern lords, in passing or in more intimate ways. This face, even tanned by the Essosi sun, seemed familiar. 

"I know you." 

"I've never met you," he said. And it was true, he didn't seem like a man who spent an abundance of time in brothels. Even having encountered him in one last night...it wasn't as if he'd seen him with one of the girls or boys, he'd just been by himself. 

"No, but you came to Winterfell after your wedding," she said. "You had drinks in Winter's Town with some of your men, and some of them came to the brothel after," she continued. "Ser Jorah Mormont, right?" 

"How --"

"Well, ser, not to shock you, but there's a big fucking bear on your chest," she said dryly. "Untie me. I'm not a fighter and not a swimmer. There's nowhere for me to go." She tried to look imploring, but probably just looked irritated. She'd always had trouble controlling her face. Why had she listened to Varys? She should have gone with Shae to keep the girls in line. "I thought you were an advisor to Queen Daenerys." 

"I was," he said. 

Had he betrayed Daenerys to go home to Westeros? He would certainly sell her to Cersei for a pardon, she meant nothing to him. "Please don't take me to the Queen," she said. 

Jorah Mormont looked down at her, and sighed. "You were speaking of the Imp and the Spider --" 

"Queen Cersei will take your head as quickly as she takes mine!" she said. "Take me back to Volantis, or sail to Pentos --" 

"Queen Cersei?" Jorah asked, blinking in confusion. "No. I'm taking you to Meereen to Queen Daenerys, to warn her that the Lannisters are coming for her." 

Ros exhaled a sigh of relief, and then she threw her head back and laughed. And laughed. And laughed. She had been taken hostage only to be taken...the same way she had been going! 

"What?" 

"I was booking passage to Meereen when you kidnapped me, Ser. Tyrion means to offer his services to Queen Daenerys to help her take Westeros!" she said. "All you've done is make it so that I don't have to sail with my companions, for which I am eternally grateful." 

She hoped they didn't wait too long for her. 

Jorah slapped his hand to his forehead, but after a moment of consideration, he undid her bindings. "How do I know you're not lying?" 

"You don't. But I swear to you, ser, on my honor --" 

"What honor can a whore from Winter's Town offer me?" he shot back.

Ros narrowed her eyes. "More than a man who sold men into slavery, that's for true." 

They sailed for days, past Lys and through the smoking ruins of old Valryia. It was beautiful, the wrecked stone rubble and the overgrown vines. She was not likely to see anything so beautiful ever again, so she stood at the edge of their little boat and watched it float by. 

"I would stay low if I were you," he said gruffly. 

"Why? It's just a dead city." 

"The stone men lurk in those ruins," he said. "Men covered in greyscale. One touch and you'll be one of them. Best not to draw attention to ourselves." 

Despite wanting to see the ruins, she complied, sitting down and covering her hair so she blended in with the little boat. "Why were you in Volantis?" 

His face drew taught. "I made a grave mistake years ago, when I first came into the Khaleesi's service. She found out about my treachery and...exiled me," he said. This was the most openly emotional she'd seen him in their long, foggy days together. "I wished to make it right by bringing her news from Westeros." 

"And a very pretty hostage?" she said, trying to pull a smile from him. 

He just shook his head. "The Spider has been helping Robert Baratheon hunt Daenerys for nearly 20 years. Why would he be sending an envoy to Meereen?" 

"I don't know the depth of Lord Varys's plans but...with Tywin Lannister and Joffrey dead, Cersei is in control of the Seven Kingdoms, and she'll make them burn," she said. "She's a cruel woman, and she'll defeat King Stannis before long. Varys...has been working with Illyrio Mopatis for years to protect the Targaryen heirs, and when Daenerys proved herself to be a good ruler, he knew he had to find a way to bring her West." 

She had only gathered whispers and bits of his plan in his conversations with Tyrion and in the letters she sneaked after he sent them, but that seemed like the right story. 

Jorah nodded. "So he sends her the Imp." 

"And more than that. I can't say what he'll tell her when he arrives, I can only hope she listens," she said. 

Jorah was about to respond when the ship rocked with impact. A figure -- shambling and gray-skinned, moaning and hissing -- rose and she froze in fear as it reached for her. Jorah jerked her behind him and drew his sword. 

"You can't let him touch you!" he said. The ship rocked as he swung his sword. More stonemen hissed and she had nowhere to go but overboard, unable to swim but less thrilled by the prospect of greyscale, to be honest. 

She surfaced and saw their ship sinking, Jorah abandoning it and grabbing her. They waded out of the water, coughing and spluttering. 

"Did it touch you?" he asked. 

"No. You?" 

"No."

"Let me see," she insisted.

"What?"

"I want to make sure you aren't lying to me, moron, let me see your arms," she said, grabbing his face and inspecting his neck for any scratches or wounds. He was clean. No marks of greyscale, no bites or scratches. "All right." 

"If I had been lying to you, you would have just given yourself --" he said, pointing to her hand. 

Ros rolled her eyes. "Well, you didn't. I guess we're walking?" 

"The Valyrian road is even more dangerous than the water," he groused. "We're too close to Mantarys and Tolos." Even still, they set off on foot, towards the east. It was hot, and her dress was nearly ruined, but she would have to make due. She had spent more time in worse clothes, and the brutal sun dried it out fairly quickly. 

"So how does a whore from Winter's Town find her way in the confidence of the Master of Whisperers?" 

"Varys enjoys collecting interesting people with surprising skills, Ser. It's why he took a liking to Lord Tyrion, I think. I...didn't want to be a whore anymore. In Winter's Town, it was boring. I went to King's Landing to find better work, and all I found was...death." 

He paused, considering her with pity. 

"Lord Baelish let the gold cloaks slaughter a girl's baby, still at the breast, and her mother along with her. Because it was a bastard of Robert Baratheon's he'd never even known about," she said, trying not to think of Maegan and her cries. "He kept a highborn northern girl captive and sold her to men. A girl of 13. Because the Queen might have use of her later." Her breath shuddered, and she was surprised to feel a warm hand on her shoulder. "He would let men beat girls, kill girls. He didn't care, so long as they paid. It was horrible. Lord Varys offered me a way out. He helped me save Lady Jeyne and he helped her escape the city, and me as well, when Lord Baelish no longer had use for me." 

Jorah stayed silent. 

"Varys cares about smallfolk, he cares for the realm. So I will be loyal to him until he no longer does."

"I'm sorry that happened to you --" 

The men were on them in a flash. Of course she had run her mouth and walked them right into an ambush. Stupid, Ros! She ducked behind Jorah as he raised his sword, and a man came to the center of his slave soldiers with an arm raised. 

"What do we have here?" he asked in clear, though accented, Common tongue. 

Ros knew Jorah couldn't talk his way out of this if their lives depended on it. Which they did, so she stepped out in front of him and adjusted her dress, trying to show how fine it had been.

"My manservant is not much for talking, my lord," she said, letting down her hair. The more beautiful she made herself, the more men listened to her, right? "We are traveling to Meereen. Our ship was destroyed and we were forced to continue the journey on foot. Are we heading in the right direction?" 

The Slaver regarded her skeptically. "What takes you to Meereen?" He eyed Jorah sword and armor. "The reopening of the fighting pits?" 

Ros latched onto the opening. "Of course. My manservant is a great warrior, the greatest in the land. He fought in the great Rebellion, on the side of the victorious northmen, and again at the siege of Pyke, where he fought side by side with the Lord of Light's chosen warrior, Thoros of Myr, and his flaming sword." She had heard stories of the battle on Pyke, most notably from Thoros himself, who was fond of the retelling. She hoped his fire god was not offended by her exaggeration. 

"Quite a man to have in servitude," he said, narrowing his eyes. 

"Well, even great warriors can make mistakes, my lord," she said deferentially. "I'm a wealthy woman and I need strong protectors. And strong lovers." 

Jorah choked.

"Well, we are going to an auction of slaves, and some are bound for the fighting pits. Perhaps you could find a few more strong warriors if you join us," he said. 

Ros had no intention of buying any men, but going to the auction as a free woman would be preferable to going in chains. 


	28. SANSA V

"It won't be forever," Shae told her, drying Sansa's eyes with a kerchief. "Lady of Winterfell does not weep over a handmaiden," she continued. Shae had decided to stay in the Water Gardens, in Dorne, with Prince Doran and some of the younger children. As they parted, she told them what Sansa had already known; she was tired of the game of thrones. She wanted to live in peace, and she wanted to eat fine foods and spend time among fine people, not march from castle to castle and fight in wars.

Privately, she leaned into Sansa's ear. "And if this Prince means to betray you, I will cut his throat," she said. "And then I can steal Princess Myrcella and bring her to you, and you  _ will  _ defeat Cersei." 

Sansa smiled. She had not seen Myrcella at the Water Gardens, apparently she and Trystane were staying in Sunspear. It was more heavily fortified than the Water Gardens, so Sansa supposed it made sense.

"When the war is done, I will find you again, and you will always have a place by my side if you want it," Sansa told her, clutching her hands tightly. 

Shae nodded.

Sansa watched her grow smaller and smaller as the carriage departed, making its way to the docks. The Dornish army, led by Arianne Martell, would take the road, and they would take ships to Highgarden and join them on the road after. It was better to stay separated, in case someone told their plans to the Queen. 

Joining Sansa and Jeyne was Prince Quentyn, and the so-called Sand Snakes. They were fierce warriors, to hear anyone say it, and Sansa was happy for the protection. The seas between Dorne and the Reach were treacherous, but whispers of Greyjoy ships and pirates didn't unman her nearly as much as facing the Queen of Thorns.

"Are you afraid?" Jeyne asked. 

"I...yes," she said bluntly. "Every morning I wake thinking perhaps we ought to have stayed with Lord Tyrion and Ser Bronn. That meeting the Dragon Queen would have been better than coming home to sing the praises of a queen I've never met. What if she's just another Cersei?" Cersei had seemed kind, once, until she'd had Lady killed...until she'd let Joffrey kill her Father… called her stupid and forced her to marry Lord Tyrion… Sold Jeyne like a dog and all the rest of the horrors that she had witnessed Cersei commit. 

"Well…" Jeyne hesitated. "The Lords of Westeros are seeing  _ you _ right now. Aren't they? If Queen Daenerys is not what Varys says she is...then maybe they'll be loyal to you and fight against her." 

"I don't know if I want to be Queen," she said. "But...perhaps." 

"What  _ do  _ you want?" 

"I want to see my sister again, I want my brothers to be alive. I want my mother," she said. Then she snorted. "Right now, I want two houses who have hated each other for centuries to work together for the sake of a person they don't even know," she said. 

The most impossible desire of all. 

They took to the deck of the ship, where Obara trained with her spear, her sisters cheering her on. 

"Lady Nymeria, Lady Tyene," she said graciously when they hailed her.

"We are not ladies, we are bastards," Obara said as she walked over.

"I apologize." 

"Don't mind my sister. She's quite rude sometimes," Nymeria said with an easy laugh. "You can call me Nym, if you'd like. Most of my friends do." 

Sansa would love to be friends with Nym; her dark hair was beautifully braided and her wrist dangled with bracelets. She and Tyene were witty but polite where Obara...well, Obara reminded Sansa more than a little of Arya, though less humorous. All of them baseborn, but she had met so many awful trueborn sons and daughters through the years, she found that it hardly bothered her the way it had a lifetime ago. 

"Do you truly think this Queen of Thorns will receive us?" Obara asked. 

"I think so. She meant to marry me to her grandson, once. My marriage to Lord Tyrion was not consummated, and as Ned Stark's oldest living child, a marriage to me would give my husband a strong claim to the North. With the Reach and the North, House Tyrell would be one of the most powerful houses in the Kingdom." It was a strategy she loathed to use. She was so tired of marriage claims and who inherited what. But she knew that to get home, promises would have to be made, just like Robb had known.

"Do you want to marry this heir to Highgarden?" Tyene asked softly.

"No, but she doesn't need to know that. Prince Doran has two unmarried children, and Lady Olenna has many grandchildren who may need suitable marriages. I have an unmarried cousin and an unmarried sister," she said. "If I can offer her something that rivals the claim to the Iron Throne, she will listen." 

"You would offer yourself up like meat to unite two armies who hate each other?" Obara asked, and it was hard to say if she admired Sansa or disdained her. "For the sake of people you do not know." 

Absurdly, Sansa thought of what she really wanted again.  _ Winterfell  _ and Arya. The last sibling left to her. Home.  _ Revenge _ . "I would offer a number of things, and so would Prince Doran," she said, looking at where Quentyn was reading a book on the deck. He met her eye and smiled and she looked away. "Prince Oberyn and Queen Margaery are valuable hostages, but Cersei is likely to kill them if we don't move quickly enough. I am hoping that the trap your cousin sets for her along the Kingsroad will throw her off balance. And I am hoping my small part in this will make you think kindly of me should I ever need your help." 

"You're quite intelligent, Lady Sansa," Quentyn said, joining the knot of ladies. He was not as handsome as his cousins or his older sister, but he was not hideous. Sansa did not think Dornishmen could be hideous, from the little she'd seen of the country. He was maybe just a little plain, and quiet and uncomfortable. His friends were among their travel party, and he seemed much less reserved among them. 

"Thank you, Prince Quentyn," she said.

He seemed like he wanted to say something else, but as he looked at her, no more words came out, and he simply turned and walked away. 

"I think Quentyn has taken a fancy to you," Jeyne said when they settled in that night. 

"What?" 

"Well, you or your claim," she said. "Nym was telling me that in Dorne, the eldest child inherits regardless of gender. So he doesn't inherit Sunspear, Arianne does. And his mother is from Norvos, so there's no claim on her side to inherit. That means he needs to make a good marriage. And he could be Lord of Winterfell..." 

Sansa thought about it. A quiet, solid young man, certainly. His temperament was similar to Doran's, though she thought Doran had more hidden edges than Quentyn. She liked the  _ idea _ , she thought, of a quiet, nice man. Joffrey had inspired passion in her heart, romantic fantasies of being Queen and long, brightly lit kisses. But she had been a child. She didn't want that anymore, did she? She must wed. She could simply stay wed to Lord Tyrion, but she knew she would never love him, or desire him, and the thought of that made her ache. Did she not deserve some kind of passion?

"Quentyn would be a sensible match, but…so would Willas Tyrell, or one of Yohn Royce's sons. Or Lord Tyrion. I do not need to fret on marriage just yet. I am still married, after all." 

Jeyne's eyes were keen as she hugged her and they drifted off to sleep with the rocking of the waves. 

Highgarden was beautiful. It was as beautiful as all the songs and stories said it would be. A party of knights greeted them, the castle looming over the little castle town, shining and silver. 

"My ladies, Prince Quentyn," a man said. He was handsome, a tall, square-jawed young man maybe of an age with Tyene. "I'm Dickon Tarly, heir of Randy Tarly of Horn Hill. I've come to receive you for Lady Olenna." 

"It is an honour to receive you, Lord Dickon. Your father Randyll is a fierce warrior." 

"Yes," he said with a little strain in his smile. 

"My travel party," she said. "My handmaiden, Jenny of Blackwater. A Prince of Dorne, Quentyn Nymeros Martell, and the daughters of the Red Viper, Prince Oberyn; Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene Sand." 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tyene keenly smile at Dickon as he nodded to each of them in turn. He blushed. "Lady Olenna is happy to meet with you on behalf of her son, Lord Mace Tyrell, the Master of Coin, Lord of Highgarden, Warden of the South, and father to the Queen," Dickon said, turning his horse around to lead them up the steep hill to where Highgarden waited. 

Sansa knew that Lady Olenna was the real power of House Tyrell, and that Mace would follow her demands if she made them clear. Whatever bad blood the Dornish and the Lords of the Reach had, this felt more important. How to make them see that? Margaery would have listened to her, she thought. If only she were here.

When she came to Olenna's solar, she waved them off. "Leave me with Lady Sansa," she told her attendants and Sansa's alike. The only other person in the room was a tall, handsome boy sitting in a chair much like the one Prince Doran had sat in. He was studying a map, and he looked up and gave her a polite nod of the head. His eyes were warm and brown like Queen Margaery's. 

_ Willas Tyrell _ , she thought. The Heir of Highgarden had been injured as a younger man in a tourney, and now he walked with a twisted foot, but Margaery said he was kind and smart. She had meant to marry him, before all of this. Would she still have to, to get what she needed? 

"I had never thought to see you again, Lady Sansa," Olenna said keenly. "After the Imp raped and butchered you and dropped you in Blackwater Bay, cruel demonic man that he is." She laughed at her own jest and Sansa had to smile too. The absurdity of it all. Tyrion was the kindest Lannister, and yet the world believed him to be the cruelest. "What have you brought for me?" 

"Offers. An alliance with Prince Doran Martell of Dorne, and I would owe you a great debt --" 

" _ If _ I risk my granddaughter and grandson for the sake of you and the snakes you wish to drop into my garden," she cut over. 

"Lady Olenna, not to be rude, but Queen Margaery is in danger  _ regardless  _ of what you do right now, short of annulling her marriage and telling Cersei she is the Queen once and always, she will never be permitted to live peacefully," Sansa said in a flat voice. "You mean to march on King's Landing, one way or another, for the honor of your house. March with Dorne and bring one of the greatest armies Westeros has ever seen to her door."

"I mean to march on King's Landing, it's true, and meet the rest of my son's men on the road," she said. "I mean to go into the city and get my family released."

"So does Princess Arianne," she said. "March together. You will best Cersei, retake King's Landing and secure your family's safety."

"I will be marked a traitor to the crown. Margaery will die. Marching with Dorne will be an act of war. Going alone is safer."

"Cersei will surrender them willingly to you when she sees you at her walls," she said, not believing that with any particular fervor. She'd burn King's Landing to the ground, but… Maybe. There was a chance. Tommen was a sweet boy and he held the power, even if Cersei didn't let him believe that.

"What is it you want?"

"Lord Varys sent me to treat with you on behalf of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, who means to sail from Meereen and retake her father's throne soon. He wishes for you to help defeat Cersei in the field so that when Daenerys arrives it does not come to war again," she rattled off. It sounded so false coming from her like this. "I believe it prudent. She has three dragons and an army of Unsullied, the greatest warriors the world has ever known, they say. If she sees your House welcome her openly, there are alliances to be made. She is unwed, from what I understand."

"The Lord Oaf of Highgarden will not allow Margaery to forfeit her crown," she said with a snort. "What possible benefit could we gain from warming the throne for a Targaryen from the other side of the world? The slight chance that perhaps she'll wed Willas instead of feeding him to dragons?" 

Sansa didn't know, truly. "Daenerys could be years off, it's true. What matters  _ now  _ is that Cersei holds your granddaughter the Queen, and a Prince of Dorne captive, and only force will release them. Doran has two unwed children, and you have grandchildren of marriageable age. My cousin Robin will become Warden of the East when he comes of age --" 

Olenna interrupted. " _ If _ he lives that long."

"Pardon me, my lady?" 

"Have you not heard?" Lady Olenna asked, her keen face softening. "Your aunt is dead. Your cousin fosters with the Royces, and Littlefinger has taken your sister north on behalf of the crown."

Sansa took in a breath. "Truly?" She couldn't help but smile at the thought. 

"Why are you smiling, girl? You're not daft, are you?" 

She shook her head. "Pardon. The Eyrie is an impregnable fortress, My Lady. There is a reason Lysa wished not to abandon it. There are many leagues between the Vale and the North, and no mountains to hide atop. Littlefinger has made himself vulnerable by leaving, and Arya will not abide being used as a pawn. I would not be surprised if he loses her on the march." But that would leave Arya lost and alone in the north. Jon Snow would protect her, but he was even further away than Sansa was, now. 

"Is this what you want? To curry favor to rescue your lost sister? The north is a long way from King's Landing, too. That's where we're marching."

Sansa stared at her hands. "I would suggest north, but not so far north as Winterfell, My Lady. I do not need your armies to follow Petyr Baelish north. If my plan works, you will be in a stronger position to battle Cersei than you could ever dream."

"And what, I offer one of my grandchildren to the Dornish? Mace would never --"

"Grandmother. I will lead the army and make an alliance with this Dornish Princess myself if it would stop you toying with the girl. Agree to her terms," Willas blurted out, looking frustrated. 

Olenna smiled fondly at her grandson, then turned back to Sansa. "Tell me what you want for true, Lady Sansa. To install a Targaryen queen on the throne?"

"Vengeance, my lady. Justice. Against Cersei. Against Littlefinger. Against those who have wronged me. Prince Doran wants it too. And you do as well. Don't you?"

"Margaery's safety is all I want. Why do you think I killed Joffrey?" she asked, with a wicked grin. "If you mean to get your vengeance, let me give you something," she said. "For Littlefinger."

Sansa was not sure what to make of the necklace of moonstones shoved into her hands, reeling from the shock of the revelation.

"Now tell me this plan of yours."


	29. ARYA III

All she had to do was get past Moat Cailin. She could find her way north on her own. She could go to the Wall and find Jon and be safe. Father had said no army could get past Moat Cailin, so whoever held it held the north. Flayed man banners snapped in the wind, and she felt a chill.

The Boltons had the north. She had known it, but seeing it...was different.

Littlefinger said he wanted revenge for her mother. He wanted to take her north so that she could take Winterfell and reclaim the north. With her brothers and sister dead, she was all that was left, and she would be Lady of Winterfell.

She didn't  _ want  _ to be Lady of Winterfell, but Littlefinger had murdered Lysa. He had lied to her, and taken her army. They had left Robin with Lord Royce, who had promised to foster him and make him stronger. He had regarded Arya strangely, and she thought maybe he just hadn't liked how she was dressed. 

They were at Moat Cailin, and Bolton's men greeted them. He had not brought the armies of the Vale north with him. 

"I thought we were  _ taking  _ Winterfell?" she asked one night before they arrived. 

"We have to get there, first. Winterfell will not fall from a siege from the south, it needs people within, and the Lords of the North need to see you," he said quietly to her, his minty breath tickling the back of her neck. "We go as friends, and they'll allow the armies of the Vale through, and  _ then _ they will be bested. Not the other way around." 

She thought that retaking Winterfell would be...well. She didn't care about being Lady of Winterfell. She wanted to avenge Robb, but even pretending to let the Boltons take her hostage sounded too dangerous. Littlefinger was probably  _ lying _ . He'd probably just marry her off to Roose's son and leave it at that. But what was in that for him? It was making her head hurt. 

All she had to do was get past Moat Cailin. One more night and she could leave and find Jon and get away from this. She didn't care about the castle, without her family...it didn't mean anything. That night, she slept uneasily. 

  
She dreamt she was a wolf, as she did most nights. She ran through the woods, the smell of a river around her. She howled, and saw her brothers and sisters surrounding her. She was the leader. She was strong. She killed a deer, and when she woke she wiped her mouth, as if the blood was still there.

The smell of blood overtook her. It was still night. Why had she been woken from this dream?

Fires were lighting as the men shouted and rallied. An attack? They'd all be distracted...

_ This was her chance _ , she thought, slipping out of her bedroll and grabbing her boots. She grabbed Needle and put it in her belt. A man looked over at her, but a flaming sword took him in the side. 

_ A flaming sword.  _

She scrambled away, and out of the alcove she had been sleeping in. She didn't see Lord Baelish at all, until she heard a horse cry out, and saw a man riding away alone. A coward. 

One of the Bolton men grabbed her and ran through the winding, dilapidated halls of the fort, dragging her behind him. She pulled out the dagger Sandor had given her and stabbed him in the hand. 

Fires and screaming were everywhere. She thought of the night Robb died, and pressed her back into the wall, trying not to think of Grey Wind...of Robb…of Mother. Someone in blue armor, a sword gleaming in the firelight, burst into the corridor to her right. "Lady Arya?" they called, not seeing her.

A woman. A woman with a sword, calling out to her. Who was she? The Mormont women carried swords, but her accent was southern...

She sank further back into the corner. A man ran through the halls, screaming and waving a sword. A bigger man than any she had seen in a long time took him from behind, one swing of his great sword nearly cutting the man in half. 

The  _ Hound _ . 

"I'm here!" she said, finally calling out as he stalked past. "Why are you with the Brotherhood?" she demanded. It was hot and damp, like it had been in the cave when he'd fought for his life. When he'd won. He'd been guilty, but he'd won. But...well. He'd kept her safe, too, hadn't he? He'd gotten her to the last family she'd had, for all the good it had done either of them.

"Fuck's sake, girl, don't go lurking around like that," he said, lowering his sword slowly as she came out of the shadows. The blue armored woman jogged up. "Lady Arya Stark," he said. "Brienne of Tarth, your noble rescuer." 

"Who are you?"

"I served your mother before she died," she said. "I...she sent me away on an errand and I wasn't there to protect her, but I swore to her that I would find her daughters safely." She knelt down in front of Arya, as the men of the Brotherhood filtered into the hall. The shouts had died, and the night was quiet. 

"She sent you to King's Landing," she said, accusatorily. "They said my mother released Jaime Lannister. She sent him with you." 

Brienne of Tarth nodded, looking shamed.

"Then why didn't you save my  _ sister _ ?" Rage filled her. 

Brienne gaped at her, and Arya had surprised even herself with the built up fury it had unleashed within her. "By the time I arrived, she was gone…" 

"Dead, you mean." Sansa. Sweet and loving Sansa. Why had this woman playing gallant knight not helped her?

"Not dead," Brienne said. "Missing. No one knows what happened to her, but...some people believe that Queen Cersei is lying about her death...so that you would be the key to the north." She meant Jaime Lannister when she said 'some people' but Arya was willing to forgive her for the faintest glimmer of hope. If Sansa was truly alive and free of the Lannisters...she would come north, wouldn't she? Where was she?

"We cannot linger here, my lady," Beric Dondarrion said, in the low light he looked as dead as he ever did. "Your Aunt in the Vale --" 

"Murdered by Littlefinger," she said. 

"And your Uncle's still fight the Lannisters and Freys in the Riverlands," Thoros said, draping an arm around Beric's shoulders. "Where is safe for you, little lady?" 

"Who will pay you for me, you mean?" she shot back in a cold voice. 

"There's no use in ransoming you anymore," Beric said. "We're well past it. Tell us where you'll be safe and we'll deliver you there. Our purpose is in the north, now. The Lord of Light has willed us here. The great war is coming." She didn't know what he meant. 

"My only family left is Jon Snow, at the Wall," she said. "He'll know what to do, if I go to him." She longed to see Jon again. He'd ruffle her hair and not judge her for wearing boy's clothes or carrying a sword. 

Thoros leaned in to whisper in Beric's ear, and the Lightning Lord smirked. 

"I'm glad our purpose has put us on the same path as you, Arya Stark," was all Beric said to her.

Despite herself, she was glad too. 


	30. JON III

Theon had stolen Longclaw back from Ramsay in the confusion of the battle. He still wasn't sure what had happened -- to Stannis, to Winterfell, to any of it -- all he knew was that he needed to keep running. 

The unhealed skin of his hands and feet burned in the cold air and he felt much like he had when Ygritte had shot him. Theon held his hand and kept dragging him forward even as he stuttered and stumbled. 

He didn't know how to feel about any of it. Theon had betrayed Robb, but he had saved him, and he hadn't burned Winterfell. What did it all mean? 

Ygritte had been his enemy once too, he supposed. But she saved him, and she spared him.

And she died.

They would not die here. Not like this.

The dogs barked and brayed in the distance, and he knew they had run as far as they could. "We can fight," he wheezed. 

"I don't think we can," he said. "I...you keep running, I'll stop them." Theon stood from where they had crouched, leaving Jon alone behind the snowy outcropping. "Find Arya and Rickon. Go!" 

Jon froze, somehow unable to imagine leaving Theon now. After how much he'd done, after how much they'd gone through. As Theon stepped out from behind the rocks and held out his hands to Ramsay's men, they stopped.

"Reek! What are you doing?"

"The Bastard of Winterfell escaped. I went to find him and bring him back before Lord Ramsay returned," he stuttered. Theon had been a good liar, once, always with a smug smile. Now he was too afraid. 

"Then how is it Lord Ramsay's chambers were robbed, as well?"

"Jon Snow knows Winterfell better than any man living. Maybe there was some secret way," he said. "He's dead, though. The cold."

"A Stark died of the cold?" one of the men laughed. 

It wasn't working, but Jon still couldn't run. His hand inched towards Longclaw as he heard the padding footsteps of a dog approaching. He held his breath, but as he stepped out from behind the rocks he had crouched behind, a white shape as big as a horse raced through, knocking Bolton's men to the dirt in a spray of blood and cacophony of cracking bones. 

A great black wolf snarled, and the hounds scattered, yipping in fear. Shaggydog lunged at the other men.

Jon grabbed Theon, and grabbed one of the horses who was kicking and terrified, riderless and confused. Out of the trees, a few shapes emerged. 

Jon held his breath until the red beard of Tormund Giantsbane came into focus. 

"Little Crow," he called, relief clear on his face.

"How did you know to find me?" he asked hoarsely. 

"Your Edd came to us when you hadn't returned to the Wall...thought something must have happened." Tormund wrapped Jon in a tight embrace that he almost melted into. He was safe, at last. He never thought he'd feel so much relief to see Tormund. "We were at Hardhome, Jon. ...the dead came for us."

Jon looked at him, cold chills sweeping through him. "I… uh. This is Theon Greyjoy. We were raised together at Winterfell. He helped me escape." They started walking, Jon leading their captured horse as Ghost and Shaggydog walked behind them. 

"You won't be able to return to the Wall, Edd says that cunt Thorne means to kill you if you do," he said.

Jon wasn't surprised, he guessed. He should have named Edd acting commander, but naively he'd believed being neutral would endear those who hated him to his command. "Well. I need to find my sister," he said. "She's riding north."

"Recover with the Free Folk. Any friend of Jon Snow's is a friend of mine." Theon looked almost shocked to be called a friend, even as Jon patted him on the back. "Then we'll go look for your sister. You vouched for us to get us past the Wall. Finding one little girl shouldn't be an issue."

Jon wasn't sure what he expected, but the wildling camp was somehow smaller than he'd thought it would be. "So few of you…"

"Like I said. The dead came for us."

"Did Edd bring any news of Stannis or the war?" he asked. 

Tormund sighed. "Edd was here a fortnight or more ago. I'm not sure."

Jon was a little disappointed. A redheaded child zoomed from the side of his wildling protector and flung himself into Jon's arms. "Rickon!"

He gave a gap-toothed grin to Jon as Osha walked up, her spear directly pointed at Theon, anger in her eyes.

Jon held out a hand. "He saved my life," he said. "He saved me from Ramsay Bolton."

"He burnt Winterfell!" Rickon cried in protest, balling up his fists. 

"Ramsay burnt Winterfell, my Lord," Theon said, staring at the ground. "He captured me and burnt it all down. And now he's taken it over. What I did was wrong...and I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't deserve forgiveness, but the Boltons have Winterfell now..."

"Well, we should take it back," Rickon said simply, as if they could simply walk into Winterfell and reclaim it. 

Jon wasn't sure. They didn't have anyone to take it back with, and he was so tired of fighting. It's all he'd done since he'd gone to the Wall. "We need to find Arya. We don't have the men to take Winterfell. If Stannis wins, we'll be able to go home. If we find Arya, we can at least all find somewhere safe..."

"Stannis won't," Theon said, his voice fearful. "It won't work."

"He's not unkillable," Jon said, but the fear in the pit of his stomach didn't abate.  _ Someone  _ could defeat Ramsay, right? If Arya was in the North with Littlefinger, and he had Rickon, the heir to Winterfell. Maybe the northmen would rally against the Boltons if they knew Rickon was alive...

Theon shrugged. 

"I've got a tent you can use," Tormund said. "I wasn't expecting to find another one, so I only cleared out one. Ha!"

"We can share," Jon said, glancing sidelong at Theon. Their time in the wild, they had spent a lot of time sleeping close by, and he felt like maybe he would be safer if Theon was with him. 

"We found a hot spring down the way, if you need it." Tormund leaned over and sniffed Theon, who jumped back in horror. "You definitely do." He threw his head back and laughed as Theon cringed.

Jon smiled, weary. "Leave him be, Tormund."

Tormund's son ran up, demanding Rickon play with him and the children sped off. Their laughter echoed through the camps as they chased a few girls their age around the big bonfire at the center of camp. 

"I'm glad you're safe, boy," Osha told Jon, still casting a glare at Theon, as she turned to follow Rickon. 

Jon nodded. When they were alone, Jon found the tent Tormund had pointed out to them. It was not made for two people. Or at least two people who weren't… Well, nothing for it. "I'm going to go find those hot springs," he said. "Join me."

"I… I can't…" Theon recoiled at the words as if Jon had slapped him.

"You don't have to get in. Just come with me," he said, reaching his hand out and taking Theon's. It was odd, to feel like he wasn't safe without a man he had hated so much not a month ago. They walked through the camp, and found the springs Tormund had mentioned down a steep hill, tucked at the edge of a little stoney cliff. 

Jon stripped down, and Theon looked at him with furrowed brows. He had scars from Ygritte's arrows, and scars from Ramsay's knives, and Orell's eagle. 

"I've had a lot of people try to kill me these past few years," he said with a laugh. 

Against all odds, Theon smiled too. "What was it you told Robb? You Starks are hard to kill." 

"Yes, we are," he said. He lowered himself into the hot water and felt better than he had in months. "You should really join me," he said. "I won't look." It wasn't as though Theon hadn't looked at him, but while he didn't know the extent of it...whispered rumor and speculation made him feel like whatever Ramsay had done to him was far worse than what Jon had suffered. 

"I… Ramsay…" His voice was choked and halting, but he started unlacing the tattered tunic. 

"I swear to the old Gods," he said, looking away, but he caught a flash of angry, scarred red skin. He heard a splash and decided it was safe to turn again. Theon was running hot water through his hair, grease and muck coming off of him in sheets. He looked less like a corpse with the accumulated filth rinsed away. Jon took a deep breath, moving in closer to him. 

"No matter what happens, Ramsay won't find us again," he promised. "You'll never go back."

Theon's face fell. "I deserve to go back."

"Don't you think this counts as atonement?" he asked, taking Theon's mutilated hand in his own. "You saved my life. You told me about Arya and gave me hope. We can defeat the Boltons and avenge Robb and --"

Theon's lips twitched almost into a smile. "Us and what army?"

"I don't know," he said with a groan.

"We're safe here. Maybe we should just be wildlings." It was tempting. 

"Not while Arya is still out there," he said. With a flash of heat, he realized they were still holding hands, but he didn't drop it. "We cannot let her be sold to the Boltons."

Theon nodded. "We'll find her." He didn't seem confident about anything else, though. At least he was confident about finding her.

That night they slept wrapped up against each other, Theon pressed into Jon's front, their hands still tangled together, both of them bearing some of the same wounds.

A fortnight past as they regained their strength. No one came near the wildling camp, so no news traveled to the Gift. They had traded their soiled clothes for clean furs provided by the Free Folk. Rickon had taken to the wildling lifestyle. He and Shaggydog terrorized the camp with Tormund's younger son, Dryn. 

Jon was starting to think maybe they  _ would _ be happiest amongst the Free Folk. It was a simple life, hunting and sitting around big fires with the others, telling bawdy stories and jokes, and singing songs. He still woke in fear, dreaming of being tied down and prodded and flayed.

Luckily, Theon did too. They barely slept, and every passing breeze could have been Ramsay, no matter how much he tried to deny it, so they spent many nights talking instead of sleeping. 

A horn blew. A small group rode into camp, but the leader dismounted with his hands raised in clear surrender. Jon approached a few paces behind Tormund, but pushed through as recognition dawned. 

"Ser Davos?" he asked, the solid, plain-faced Onion Knight approaching cautiously, looking tired and worn. 

"Jon Snow. I hadn't thought to see you alive again," he said. Davos traveled with his own son, the King's squire, Devan, and with the Princess Shireen, and the Red Priestess Melisandre. 

"Theon Greyjoy," he said to introduce his friend to the knight. "The battle --" he started. 

Davos's face was grim, his shoulders slouched. "Stannis was defeated. The sellswords turned craven from the snows and he marched with half of his forces." 

"The Queen?"

"She refused to leave when the battle turned...I don't believe…" 

The Lady Melisandre cringed. 

"My sister supposedly rides for Winterfell with Littlefinger," he said. "Have you heard any word?"

Davos thought. "A man on the road claimed Arya Stark has been abducted by the outlaws known as the Brotherhood without Banners," he said. "And what's more…" he stopped, looking at Theon shrewdly. "Balon Greyjoy is dead."

Jon looked to Theon, whose face fell. "We need to find Arya and save her from the outlaws, if the story is true."

Davos looked at Rickon as he walked over, Shaggydog close behind him. "You have the Stark heir, I have the Baratheon heir. I believe I have an idea for how we can defeat the Boltons." 


	31. BRONN IX

Podrick fucking Payne had a beard. He had been 14 or whatever when he'd met the little fucker and now he looked like a man grown. His hair was longer, too, pushed away from his face the way Bronn wore his own hair. 

"You look like the son I'll hopefully never have," he said one day, a fortnight into their trek. He worried for Ros, but hoped she had just stayed in Volantis or had gone on ahead and awaited them in Meereen. She could take care of herself. Bronn had never deigned to worry for other people before, but now he found it weighing heavy on his chest.

Jeyne and Sansa were in Westeros, far from Tyrion's protection, and he wondered if they were all right. 

"Thank you?" Podrick said. He'd become quite the little sailor in a few weeks. His hands were calloused and rough and his face was weather-beaten. Girls would lose themselves over him now, he could just see it. 

Tyrion and Varys wore no calluses on their hands. Varys didn't even look as though time had passed. Same bald fucking head every day. Day in, day out. Never changing,

Tyrion had grown a thick, dark, coarse beard, and his hair was long and messy. It was a struggle not to comment on it. What would he say? He wasn't exactly a fount of praise. Tyrion would think it weird if he said something nice without the promise of a reward. 

So he just kept his mouth shut, like he always did.

"Podrick, you're quite the sailor," Tyrion said appreciatively. "But I do have to wonder why you came with us," he added, sipping from his wineskin. "Certainly, chivalrously protecting some beautiful young ladies as they go on an epic quest to defeat an evil Queen certainly sounds like more fun than attending to three miserable men on a boat." 

"I'm  _ your _ squire."

"I could have charged my squire with the gravely important task of defending my wife if he had so desired," he said knowingly. "If he'd asked."

Podrick turned red. Varys tittered behind his hands. "My lord, I don't understand --" 

"He's asking if you want to fuck Lady Sansa," Bronn said through a mouthful of fruit leather. "Cause it seemed like you were a bit close." 

Podrick balked. "My lord! Ser! I  _ never _ ! I wouldn't -- Lady Sansa is --" 

Tyrion tilted his head. "A beautiful girl close to your own age. Why would you not want to?" 

He was a darker red than the fancy wine Tyrion was sucking on. "She's your  _ wife _ . I would never have untoward thoughts --" 

Tyrion snorted. "My sham wife." He was goading the boy, but he had clearly struck a nerve. "I'm sorry, lad. You're not in trouble. If you have taken fancy to Lady Sansa, I can hardly blame you. She's beautiful, witty, and intelligent." 

"She's your  _ wife _ ," he repeated. 

Tyrion shrugged.

It would be better that Podrick fancied Jeyne Poole, a steward's girl would be a good match for a squire of a cadet branch, after all. But Bronn felt a right sight more possessive of Jeyne than Tyrion did of Sansa. She had no need of lads sniffing around her. "Would you feel better if I threatened to cut your cock off, lad?" he asked.

Podrick stalked off with mumbled excuses, and they both threw their heads back to laugh as Varys consoled Podrick on the other side of the deck.

It was another week or more, he had truly lost count, before they reached Meereen. The great pyramids rose against the horizon. There were a great number of ships in the bay. Their little fishing boat with plain white sails caused no alarm, as they docked and left it, finally on solid land after so many weeks at sea. 

"Meereen," Varys said. The city had an ill feel to it. They walked up through the winding streets from the docks into the city proper. Even at midday the streets felt empty. Unsullied marched the streets in pairs, and the citizens of the city cringed away from them. Graffiti in a language Bronn didn't read littered the walls. 

As they walked, he heard a shout, and the clang of swords. Self-preservation told him to keep walking, but… instead he sped forward, his companions on his heels. A fight breaking out in the city was the best way to get a feel for the city as a whole, after all. 

What he saw was an older man with a longsword and a young Unsullied back to back, surrounded by masked, knife wildling men. A Westerosi knight, by the way he held himself. 

This had to be someone in league with Daenerys Targaryen, to be a knight in Slaver's Bay… The masked attackers lunged and the fight continued, more of them seeming to come out of the very ground around them. 

Drawing his sword, he gestured for Pod to follow him, and together maybe they would even the odds. Having the Dragon Queen owe him a favor seemed like a good start to his time in Meereen. The masked fuckers were not particularly skilled fighters, and almost seemed surprised when they got a cheap shot in on the Unsullied lad. 

He blocked a blow meant for the old knight, and Podrick parried another, sending them reeling into each other. 

"We need to question them," the knight declared, but it didn't seem likely they would get the opportunity. Bronn sank a dagger into one's neck, and two more had been slain by the Unsullied warrior, leaving two fleeing for the exits. Bronn grabbed a knife from one of the fallen and threw it between the shoulders of the nearest as he fled. 

"I thank you for your aid," the Knight said.

Podrick dove to catch the Unsullied as he stumbled, and when he pulled him to his feet it was clear this was a lad only a scant few years older than Pod himself. 

"Ser Bronn of the Blackwater," he said.

The old knight frowned at his Flea Bottom accent and his invented title. "Ser Barristan Selmy."

"No  _ shit _ ," he said. "Barristan the Bold. Well, Ser Barristan. My travel companions and I are seeking audience with the Queen. Might you be in the position to assist us with that?" Tyrion and Varys owed him. They were standing at the entrance of the alleyway, looking startled by the commotion. 

"I...suppose I can give you that," he said, winded. He looked to Tyrion and Varys with a keen recognition. "May I ask what you've come to Meereen for, Lord Tyrion? Lord Varys?" 

"To bring Daenerys Targaryen to Westeros and seat her on the Iron Throne," Varys said confidently, raising his chin a little as he did. 

Barristan looked at Bronn and Podrick, and then back to Tyrion and Varys. "I suppose King Joffrey would have sent better cutthroats than this," he said thoughtfully.

"Your news is outdated, good Ser. Joffrey is dead, his brother Tommen rules." 

"His mother rules, you mean," he said with a derisive snort. 

"Exactly," Tyrion said. "And she will destroy the country holding onto the rule, so we must make haste to your Queen." He was weary and impatient, tired of being at sea, and ready for whatever luxuries Meereen might offer them. Bronn couldn't blame him, though it wasn't as though he minded being dirty or tired at sea. 

Bronn was still on edge when they arrived at the Great Pyramid of Meereen. They were allowed access to a bath and two conjoined rooms, where they were given a meal and left to wait. They didn't have beds or fresh clothes or anything, and two Unsullied stood at their door as they waited. Surely, if they wanted them dead it wouldn't take them this long. 

He had to credit the girl for having the sense to have a suspicious mind. They waited for a night and a day, finally called out of their room at what might have been dusk, though the pyramid lacked windows. A tall, cocksure young man with slicked back hair and a well kempt beard came to fetch them with their Unsullied guards. 

"I'm Daario Naharis," he said. "You must be our most interesting visitors in Meereen this far, I have to say," he continued. His accent was faint and his Common was clear. 

"What are you exactly?" 

"The Captain of the Second Sons. We help the Khaleesi keep the peace," he said. 

"Sellswords," Bronn said, grinning. Another sellsword in the presence of a Queen. Funny world.

" _ Loyal _ to Queen Daenerys," he emphasized. 

Tyrion snorted, as if he doubted the loyalty of sellswords. He would have been hurt, if he'd cared. "A Braavosi sellsword…"

"Tyroshi," he corrected. 

"A Tyroshi sellsword at the right hand of a Targaryen. That's novel," Tyrion concluded, tilting his head inquisitively to Varys, who shrugged. 

"You know, I spent some time in some whore houses in Tyrosh," Bronn said, grinning up at the taller man. "They're shitholes."

"My mother was a whore in Tyrosh," he shot back gamely. "I grew up in those shitholes."

Bronn looked him up and down, frowning. "How old are you?" The resemblance wasn't exactly  _ absent _ ...

Daario Naharis didn't answer, striding up a long set of steps so that he might stand at the side of the Dragon Queen. She was young, maybe twenty, with all of the beauty that had been rumored of her; soft eyes and long silver hair, all dressed in white, her back rigid where she sat on a simple bench. A brown skinned girl with dark hair stepped forward. 

"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt and the Breaker of Chains," she said. 

Tyrion looked at Bronn and Podrick with alarm in the eyes. They were in the presence of greatness, and suddenly it was starting to sink in. "Ah, yes. I am…Lord Tyrion Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister, and…" He balked for a real title. "Former Hand of the King, and rightful Lord of Casterly Rock. These are my companions, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, an anointed knight of the Seven Kingdoms, and Podrick of House Payne, my squire. And this is Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers to Aerys Targaryen." 

"And Robert Baratheon...Joffrey Baratheon…" Daenerys Targaryen said dryly. 

"We do what we must to survive," Varys said. "You understand. I dreamed only of a just ruler for the realm, and  _ you  _ are that ruler." 

"Are you here to flatter me?" she asked. 

"Advise you," Tyrion said, trying to sound confident. 

"You rescued the Lord Commander of my Queensguard, and the General of my armies," she said slowly, her eyes sliding over to Bronn, who unconsciously straightened up under her scrutiny. "For that, despite the enmity of our families, I will listen to you. I hope that men who would rescue strangers in the street would not have ill-intent."

"First, I would ask you -- a companion of ours, a lowborn northern woman named Ros -- she was meant to travel with us, but we became separated at Volantis. We had thought she may have gone ahead without us and beaten us here... Has there been any word?" Varys asked, cutting over Tyrion before he could speak.

Bronn looked interested as Daenerys thought. 

"Not that I'm aware of, Lord Varys. I am sorry you were separated from your friend," she said, her tone relaxing a little. "Now, what is it you want from me?" 

"As we sit here, the Seven Kingdoms are in chaos. The Lannisters hold the throne, but they only have so many allies, and fewer everyday. Joffrey Baratheon is dead, and the child Tommen rules. His mother Cersei and his wife Margaery Tyrell bicker for leadership," Varys said. "Tywin Lannister is dead, and the heir to the North travels through Westeros rallying armies against her, at my behest. We are here to help you so that you can go to Westeros and take advantage of the chaos." 

Daenerys exchanged a look at Daario Naharis and the girl. "Did you bring me ships? Armies?" 

"Dorne is on your side, and I am hoping to reach other Lords," he said. "Ships I do not have, yet. But we hope to bring you allies and resources soon. Within the time it takes to conclude your affairs here, I hope." 

"We have Dorne," she said, hope glittering in her eyes. "You have brought me a great gift, my Lords. I...am not sure I trust you yet," she said. "I have been betrayed more times than I can count, but I do wish to reach Westeros. I cannot abandon Meereen yet," she said.

"What can we do?" Tyrion asked. 

"You're here as advisors. So, advise me. I have many here that wish for me to marry a Meereeneese noble and reinstate the fighting pits, in order to quell the unrest in the city. What do you believe I should do?"


	32. JEYNE VI

The march up the Rose Road was a merry one. They marched at the head of the Highgardener's column. Lady Olenna and Lord Willas rode in a carriage. On days when the rain was unbearable or they were tired, Sansa and Jeyne joined them. Quentyn Martell, conspicuously, also chose to crowd into the wheelhouse on those days, sitting across from Sansa and struggling to engage her in conversation. He had no trouble speaking to Willas, who gamely talked about histories and songs with him, clearly trying to encourage his nerves by bringing Sansa and Jeyne into the the conversations too.

But more often they rode and camped with the Sand Snakes, who were older than them, but had the teasing demeanor of big sisters. They told bawdy stories and taunted the men riding at the head of the column. If the men of the Reach were offended by women marching amongst them, armored and armed like men, most had the sense to hold their tongue about it. 

Well, except the Heir to Horn Hill. 

Dickon Tarly had not held his tongue. He questioned their abilities even when Obara threatened to show him just what she could do with her spear, but he wouldn't agree to spar with them. He had bickered so fiercely with the typically demure, sweet Tyene one night at dinner that Jeyne thought they truly would come to blows, but the next morning he stumbled out of her tent half out of his armor, and Nymeria and Obara just laughed and laughed. After that he had shut up, so it was clear that sweet Tyene had bested him in some way or another. 

Jeyne knew that only a few of them knew Sansa's true plan. Their instructions to the scouts were vague, and as long as everyone marched in the right direction...Jeyne wondered if this would work. 

"We should come to Arianne's men just west of the Kingswood," Dickon told them, two days past Bitterbridge, where the Lord had feasted them, honored by Lady Olenna and Lord Willas's presence. "From there we'll turn north." 

"To King's Landing," Sansa said, perhaps with more force than she needed. Ears and eyes littered Westeros, and not the sort they wanted to hear more than they should.

True to Dickon's word, they came across the Dornish army around noon the next day. Arianne rode out with a small retinue. Willas Tyrell had even, with some difficulty, mounted so as to greet the Princess of Dorne properly. 

"Princess Arianne," Dickon said. He had the loudest voice of them, so they had tasked him with the introductions. "I am Dickon Tarly, Heir to Horn Hill," he said. "Riding with me, Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, and her handmaiden Lady Jenny of the Blackwater. Your cousins, Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene Sand, and Lord Willas Tyrell, the heir of Highgarden, as well as his brother, Lord Garlan, and his grandmother, Lady Olenna Tyrell."

"I had not expected to see you ahorse, Lord Willas," she said, her beautiful face falling, as if she realized she had said something terrible. "I only meant I know you don't oft leave Highga…" she faltered. "Lord Willas, it is good to see you. My Uncle the Prince Oberyn speaks most highly of you and always looks forward to your letters."

To his credit, Willas took her stumbling with grace, and smiled. Jeyne looked between the two heirs, both proud and powerful in their own ways. "Your Uncle has spoken of your wit and beauty, Princess Arianne, and I'm glad to see he at least spoke true on one of those matters," he said, with the tone of a jest. "Now, we should likely rest before the fun starts, yes?" 

"That's a keen match," Jeyne said quietly to Sansa. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, if Princess Arianne marries well, perhaps Quentyn will not feel so obligated to find a good wife and he'll leave you be," she said. 

"I don't want Quentyn to leave me be," she said, but she sighed when Jeyne raised an eyebrow. "We need the Dornish, I would not wish to offend him by letting him know I'm against a match. Until he finds someone else to take fancy to, or until Tyrion returns and I can go back to being his wife," she said. "I don't wish to lie to him, but...broken marriage promises killed Robb, so I won't be saying anything unless I absolutely must, one way or another." 

Jeyne understood, and she felt a surge of gratitude that she was the daughter of a dead steward, whose current guardian was a black-hearted scoundrel of a knight. It meant her marriage options were quite open. She doubted anyone would want to marry a whore, but she tried not to dwell on it. Those thoughts came to her at night, when she could sob into Sansa's shoulder, but in the light of day she kept strong against them, because the Wardenness of the North needed her to keep strong. 

The army went on for miles and miles when she looked back, as they turned their travel north, skirting around the edges of the Kingswood. They had more men marching than she'd ever seen at one time. As dusk fell the army ground to a halt, lanterns were lit, and they sat amongst their merry company again. 

"Our scouts indicate that the Lannister army is marching for King's Landing from Riverrun. By the time we arrive, they'll be defending the city. We do not have the element of surprise," Arianne said.

"With the bigger army, surprise is hardly necessary," Dickon said, somewhere behind Tyene, who was sitting on his lap, clinging to him tightly. Jeyne thought it was sweet, even though Tyene was a bastard. They had become overly affectionate since their night together, and it made most of the rest of their companions fake retch, which only made Tyene even more aggressive about it. "Without Highgarden, they don't have the resources to withstand a siege. If it comes to that, both the Reach and Dorne have naval forces that will supplement our foot."

Sansa looked into the fire. 

Jeyne listened along, pretending that she knew anything of strategy. She and Sansa were surrounded by warriors and soldiers who had done far more than they ever had, and yet they looked to Sansa when they discussed plans, as if she were just as important to this as they were. She truly was the Lady of Winterfell, the Wardenness of the North. 

And Jeyne prayed to the old gods that her plan worked. 

Tyene kissed Dickon on the tip of his nose and Obara finally verbalized her disgust. 

"You have a tent, go to it!" she complained. 

Tyene looked at her sister, and then kissed Dickon on the mouth as deeply as she could. Everyone groaned, and they all scattered to the wind as she giggled. 

They had a long march ahead of them. Jeyne was weary. She spent more days in the wheelhouse with Lady Olenna, who was growing as impatient as she was. It wasn't much longer, she thought. 

And truly, it was barely another week of hard riding before the sandstone walls of Riverrun came into view. She rode with Sansa and the Sand Snakes to size up the army holding the castle. The Freys had been left in charge of the siege. There were barely any of them. 

"We've come to accept your surrender," Sansa declared. The Sand Snakes had disappeared into the trees that lined the banks of the rivers as they rushed all around them. 

The Freys at the head of the army looked appalled at their sudden appearance. Their scouts had been felled quickly by Obara's spear, most of them sleepy or drunk and not even standing watch properly. 

"Who are you?" the man called, his brother disappearing into their camp. 

"I am Lady Sansa of House Stark, the Lady of Winterfell and Wardenness of the North, eldest trueborn child to Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Tully," she called back. "This is Lord Dickon Tarly, heir to Horn Hill, Prince Quentyn Nymeros Martell, and Princess Arianne Nymeros Martell, the heir to Sunspear. Surrender Riverrun and return to Lord Walder with your lives." 

Her tone wasn't boastful. It reminded Jeyne of Lord Eddard, when she'd heard him use his Lord's Voice.

The other Frey returned with a captive.

Jeyne almost gasped. The man, skinny and chained, could nearly have been Robb at a glance.   


"Come any closer and Lord Edmure dies. Still don't know if his child's a boy or a girl. He dies and Riverrun goes to --"

"Bryndyn Tully, who holds the castle already? Robin Arryn? Or me? We're Lord Edmure's only living relatives, after all. I already have the might of the Reach and Dorne behind me, my Lords. Surrender is your only option. You cannot frighten me, your allies are all the way in King's Landing. There is no loyalty to the name of Frey in the Riverlands, you cannot win." 

Jeyne watched as they bickered quietly amongst themselves, Lord Edmure still half in a noose. They had clearly made a Mummer's Farce out of threatening to execute the man before, if they had that at the ready. 

The Frey opened his mouth to speak again, but instead a bubble of blood and a gasp of air were all that came out. Obara rose up from behind him, jerking her spear out of his back as Nymeria dispatched the elder of the two. Tyene untied Lord Edmure's hands. 

The war horns blared. Riverrun would fall by morning. 


	33. ROS V

She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep the charade of a wealthy slave owning woman. The slavers spoke to her fondly, and she was hoping that them wanting to fuck her would keep them from asking too many questions. She hoped that draping herself over Jorah kept them at bay, and her bossy tone made for a convincing play act.

They only had to get to Meereen, after all, and she didn't think they were very far. 

"Is your manservant shy?" he asked one night as they sat by the fire, the slaves stumbling to set up the nightly camp. It was hard to do chained, but they still did it. 

"What do you mean?" she asked. 

"You say he is here to protect you, and I'll grant you he is fierce," he said, stroking his thin beard. "But you say that he is here to pleasure you and he hasn't done that at all." 

"Just because we're quiet about it doesn't mean we aren't doing anything," she said. "I make sure he's silent so that you don't die of envy and desire. It only seemed courteous." Her years of lying to men had kept her tongue sharp, and she hoped it lasted. 

They didn't believe this particular lie, and she supposed she couldn't blame them for that, it hadn't been particularly good. She was sitting on Jorah's lap already, mostly because it kept both of them from being vulnerable to any of their traveling companions. 

"Such modesty," he said skeptically. 

That night, in the privacy of the tent they had stolen from that poor fisherman all the way back in Volantis, Ros rolled over to face Jorah. Normally, they slept back to back, trying to be respectful of their proximity within the enclosed space. She tapped him on the shoulder until he rolled over to look at her. 

"What?" 

"How much further until Meereen? This is a hard charade to maintain," she said. "We'll never make it alive and unspoiled if they find out we've been lying the whole time." 

"I think they're up to something. Regardless of if they believe your fiction or not, I don't think it will matter," he said. He had a suspicious mind, and a serious look on his face. "If we can get to the city, I can get us away from them. Just keep vigilant." 

"We need to convince them that we're not lying to them whole cloth so they don't slap a collar on me when we wake up tomorrow morning," she said. 

"What are you suggesting?" he asked. 

"We fuck," she said bluntly. "Make a show of it. They'll doubt me less and that might be what we need to get to Meereen." She sat up, straddling his hips and smiling. 

Jorah put his rough hands against her waist. "I can't."

"Why not?" she asked. He wasn't  _ that  _ old, it had to still  _ work _ . Even Pycelle still used his and he had to be twice Jorah's age. He didn't seem angry when he looked up at her, he just had a sad sort of smile on his face. 

"I love another."

Ros moved off of him, not wishing to make him uncomfortable. "Ser Jorah, you're very noble. I can assure you, for my part, that I have never fucked anyone who loved me. Even men who thought they loved me were deluding themselves."

"Doesn't that make you sad?"

"Not particularly. I can think of a hundred better things than a man being in love with me," she said. "I love many people, just not in that way." She paused. "So, this great love of yours. Does she love you back?"

"No," he said, in the voice of someone who had long resigned himself to a harsh truth.

"Will she ever?"

"No."

Ros tried to stay impassive, not wanting to betray how pathetically sad she found all of that. The noble knight loving a beautiful maid who would never return his affection. It was all very droll. "I'm sorry, Ser Jorah. For what it's worth...you're a handsome man, and honorable. Any woman would be lucky to have you."

He snorted. "A banished, old knight who forfeited his lands and inheritance. I can't offer anyone anything."

"You know, Jorah, this might shock you but there are plenty of women in the world who will like a man for more than what he can do for her position in society," she said, feeling a little rankled. 

"It's hard to take that seriously from a woman who has climbed her way up on the backs of men --"

"Oh is that what you think?" she snapped, aware that they were nearly nose to nose now. 

"It's the truth, is what it is," he snapped back, right before she kissed him. She would figure out in the morning if she would regret this.

  
  


The great pyramids rose in the distance and she could've cried from the relief. They were so close. Their destination wasn't within the walls of the city, he said, but at the lower pits on the outskirts. She and Jorah had not addressed the night before, except for to affirm that it had been fun.

"I'm sorry," Jorah said, as they stepped away from the caravan.

"For what? I should apologize," she said. "You told me no and five minutes later…"

"I changed my mind without your influence, my lady, I swear it. But I said unkind things to you because…"

"You were all backed up and that turns men into terrible people?" she asked bluntly. 

He laughed. "Wouldn't have been my words," he said. 

"Say goodbye your manservant, dear Ros, he must go earn his glory as you wish him to," someone said at her elbow, steering her away from Jorah as he was grouped up with the other fighters. "The Queen is here today, this will be a great honor to him and to you."

They didn't go towards the pit, though. "Aren't we going to watch the fights?" she asked, her hand drifting down her thigh. One of them poked her in the back with the butt of a spear.

"Volantis will pay handsomely for you. Not often they see red hair." He leaned in to sniff his hair and Ros reached into the front of her dress, pulling out the knife and jabbing it into his neck before he could react. She ran back towards the noise of the fighting pits, kicking back as the Slavers grabbed her foot. She saw a covered pavilion among the crowds of spectators and slipped through the mass of bodies, finding herself face to face with a woman who could only be Daenerys Targaryen.

A man pulled a knife and she held up her bloody hands. 

"I'm not a threat, I'm a friend," she said. Then she saw who sat next to Daenerys. Relief hit her. "My Lord Tyrion."

"Who is this?" The Queen asked, not unkind. 

"This is Lady Ros, who we spoke of. Are you hurt?" Tyrion asked, concerned.

"No. I was...traveling with a companion and we were separated...Slavers tried to abduct me."

"A companion?" 

The last man standing below in the fighting pit threw down his helm, and Ser Jorah finally caught sight of what was happening in front of him, looking baffled. 

Queen Daenerys glared, hurt and hate in her eyes, and Ros suddenly knew exactly who Jorah had been speaking about when he'd spoken of his love. 

"Your Grace, Ser Jorah kept me safe on the road. He's a good man who made a mistake, and I hope for the sake of my friends, you won't send him away again," she said. 

Daenerys looked to one of her guards and then back to Jorah. "Bring him along," she said. 

As Jorah approached, Daenerys stood and swept away quickly, clearly trying to avoid the man. Tyrion was next to her and trailing behind him --

"Wife. It's good to see you," Bronn said, kissing her forehead. 

"Husband," she said with a smile, turning to Jorah and shrugging as he gaped at her.


	34. BRIENNE III

The Brotherhood were a merry bunch of fools. Even though they worshipped Stannis's cursed Red God, they were good men who helped anyone they came across on the road. She had trouble judging them too harshly for it, really. 

And having seen Arya in the flames, and hearing the stories of Lord Beric's resurrection...it was hard to scoff at a God she thought might truly be real. They all seemed to believe wholeheartedly in the Lord of Light. 

Arya still rolled her eyes when Beric began his frequent sermons, and she and Brienne would exchange sneaky smiles as Sandor snarked back at him when he preached. 

"Do you truly believe Sansa is alive?" Arya asked her one night, her tone more hopeful than she'd ever heard it. 

"Ser Jaime said Cersei was lying, and I suppose he'd know better than any of us," she said. She wanted to believe Jaime. She really did. 

Sandor snorted. "Appropriate bedroom talk, murdered little girls."

Brienne grimaced. She knew it was true of Jaime, or had been at some point, and that he loved his sister...indecently. but she still loathed to hear it. "He's the only reason I'm alive, I'd prefer if you spoke of him with a little grace, Clegane."

Thoros and Sandor both howled with laughter at the notion. 

"He doesn't deserve your loyalty or your  _ grace,  _ Ser," Sandor scoffed. In spite of his demeanor, Brienne found something incredibly comforting about his direct nature. As crude as he was, he was always honest, and honest men were in short supply in the times they lived in, and he never seemed offended when she spoke roughly or was too harsh with him. He respected her as much as he showed anyone respect. 

"I'm not a knight," she said for the hundredth time. 

"And you're better for it," Sandor agreed, also for the hundredth time. "Knights are nothing but butchers." 

" _ You're _ a butcher," Arya said, though without much heat. She and Gendry, the boy that Brienne had once mistook for Renly, exchanged a derisive look. The two of them seemed good friends, and Brienne was glad that there were friends to be made among this odd band.

"But I don't pretend I'm anything else," he agreed. 

They set up camp for the night, taking shifts to keep watch. Brienne settled down close to Arya, knowing very well that the girl could take care of herself, but still feeling uneasy at leaving her undefended. 

A commotion woke them just as the sky began turning the faintest purple. She shook Arya before she stood up, shoulder to shoulder with Clegane. A group of people walked into their camp, holding spears and axes aloft. 

They were dressed in patchwork furs, most of them bearded, tall and broad. 

"Who are you?" the woman at the front of the group asked. She was shorter than her companions but more intimidating by half, her pale eyes flashing in the low light. 

Beric stepped forward. "The Brotherhood without Banners. We're on a mission from the Lord of Light, My Lady."

A tall, skinny lad whispered something in the woman's ears, both of them with recognition dawning on their faces.

"They're wildlings," Arya told them. Brienne tightened her grip on Oathkeeper. Wildlings were vicious, all the stories said so. They would boil their bones or drink wine from their skulls…

"I know this Lord of Light," she said, a smile starting to form. "What are you doing  _ here _ ?" 

"We're going north to find Castle Black," Arya spoke up, looking at Beric and Thoros with an irritated scoff. "I'm looking for the Lord Commander, Jon Snow." Even among the wildlings, the Lord Commander must carry some weight, right? 

"Jon Snow is not at Castle Black, young one," the woman said. "You would be best to come with me." 

"Who  _ are _ you?" she asked.

"My name is Karsi," she said. "I am a Chieftain of the Free Folk and friend to Jon Snow. He gave the order to allow us beyond the Wall, where we're safe from the dead. We owe him a great deal, myself specifically. He saved my little girls." 

"Is he with you? At your camp?" Arya asked. 

Karsi frowned. "No, young one. He's gone with the little wolf to the other northern lords. You will not be finding him tonight, but you can rest safely among the Free Folk. Even the fire worshippers can come." 

"Very generous, my lady." 

She didn't seem to know what to make of Beric's kindness, so she just turned to her men, shouting something in a foreign tongue. "It's not far. Come. I will tell you what I know of Jon Snow, and perhaps you will see him again soon." 


	35. SANSA VI

"I must ride with you to avenge Cat," Edmure said insistently, as he had said many times since Riverrun had been reclaimed.

"You  _ must  _ stay here to attend to the birth of your child and rebuild your strength, Uncle," she said as kindly as she could. She had known little of Edmure before meeting him, and while he had the Tully look, he was not as shrewd as Lady Catelyn had been. He was much like Robb; good-hearted, noble, and a little reckless. 

"You can barely stand unassisted, boy," the Blackfish said. "I'll lead our men. You stay and guard your Castle." 

"And do nothing?" he asked, sounding hopeless. 

"If I may, Lord Tully," Princess Arianne said. "We mean to besiege King's Landing. Should we encounter trouble, Riverrun is closer to King's Landing than Sunspear or Highgarden. We may have need of you as an ally, should the siege turn ill for us." 

Arianne was smart to make Edmure feel like he'd be useful where he was safest, and Sansa wished she'd thought of such an argument sooner. She had a lot to learn about being a leader, and Arianne had been a wonderful teacher during their time together.

"We should take Casterly Rock," Obara declared. "We're already this far west, no?" 

"Cersei sent a sprinter force to defend it as soon as word got to her that we were at Riverrun," Dickon said, sadly. "If the stories of Casterly Rock are true...besieging it from the land is folly. King's Landing is an easier target. Ships from Dorne can get into Blackwater Bay more quickly than they can get to the Rock, I believe." 

Sansa agreed, but this was their part in the war, not hers. "I will leave it to you, My Lords and Ladies. Princess, Prince. I will travel north with the Riverlords who have the strength, and I will call the Northern lords to action. I will bring them south to finish Cersei, if there's anything left of her by the time I'm done." She gave the Sand Snakes a wry smile, hoping that they took care of it. 

Taking Riverrun had been a surprise that they would not recreate. They could not make for King's Landing and take Casterly Rock, or the other way around. Cersei would expect a trap, so now all they could do was exactly what Cersei expected. If the Dornish or the Highgardeners went north, they would likely never get their family back. 

But she had to go find Arya. She was out there, in danger. The Boltons held her home and might very well hold her sister by now. 

They left a scant few days after taking Riverrun, splitting away from their army and heading north. Sansa felt undefended. The Riverlords were depleted, but it was still enough...enough to inspire hope in the northerners, she prayed. Enough to rouse the Knights of the Vale to turn on Littlefinger. 

At the Inn where she'd learned her first harsh lesson about life...where she should have turned and run from the south. Gone home to her mother and never thought a moment about a Prince… Well, at that Inn, they rested on their journey. 

"Excuse me, M'lady," a young man said in a polite but lowborn voice.

"Yes?" 

"Are you Sansa Stark, from up Winterhell way?" He was tall and a little fat, with dark hair and eyes and a nice smile. He had been serving food at the Inn all night.

"I'm Sansa Stark of Winter _ fell _ ," she said gently as Jeyne giggled. 

He flushed. "Right, sorry. I forget, sometimes. Well, I'll just say...a big woman was in here a bit ago looking for you. Maybe a month or so? Dressed in armor. That's the only reason I know you, she described you real well. Young lady with red hair. I told her I hadn't seen you, but I had seen your sister, Arya. She seemed like a good sort, felt like I could trust her."

"You know Arya?" she asked. It would be just like Arya to befriend a lowborn boy, like her butcher's boy. Sansa's heart ached at the thought. Nymeria. Mycah. Lady...

He nodded. "Aye, we were travel companions. The Brotherhood captured us, the big burnt fella too. I told that all to this woman, you see. She seemed like a good woman, but it didn't seem right to not tell you that someone was looking for you and Arya. Just in case they...weren't good…" He trailed off. 

"I appreciate your honesty," she said, sipping her gravy politely. It was delicious. "What's your name?" 

"Call me Hot Pie," he said. "You got a big army, so I think you'll be alright, so if you find Arya, tell her Hot Pie said hello, and that I'm alright. Safe, like."

Sansa smiled at Hot Pie, who beamed back. He was a nice lad who was just trying to look out for Arya. She was glad that her sister had made friends who cared about her like that, cared about her like she and Jeyne cared about each other. "I will. And...well, when the war is done, if you ever need a place, Winterfell would be home to you, I swear it." 

"Wow, m'lady. That's...you're kind." 

He bowed to Sansa and scrambled off as a hoarse-voiced woman barked orders at him. She wasn't happy about the armies camping outside her walls, but she couldn't hardly say no, could she? 

The Twins waited for them. They expected an attack, of course, after being defeated at Riverrun, and she almost worried that the Lannisters would send men to defend their allies. No lion banners blew on the walls of the Twins, though, and no armies dotted their fields. 

A man rode forth to meet them. 

"Lord Lothar," her Uncle said coldly. "Kind of you to greet us." 

Lothar Frey shook his head. "What is it you want?" 

"Lady Sansa?" Blackfish said, allowing her to nudge her horse forward. 

"I'm here to offer House Frey terms of surrender," she said, smiling gamely. "Your allies have abandoned you and I have retaken Riverrun in the name of my Mother's house, and rescued the rightful ruler from your clutches." She kept her voice steady and firm, remembering how strong Lord Eddard had sounded when he did his Lordly Duties. 

"We will not surrender to traitors seeking to usurp the rightful King of Westeros and the Rightful Lord of Riverrun," he said tiredly. "Valiant King Joffrey gave the title to Lord Walder, you have no authority to take it."

Bryndyn whistled for the archers. They notched. 

"My terms are simple. Give me Lord Walder and all those brothers and cousins and grandsons who helped orchestrate this so-called Red Wedding and I'll let the rest of you live," she said. They were terms none of them would agree to but...well, who needed more Freys in the world, really? 

"We do not agree to them." His weaselly face twitched, fear in his eyes as he saw the archers. She did not have as many men as she'd had at Riverrun, but the Twins… Well, The Twins were  _ not _ Riverrun. 

"Then I will slaughter every male Frey of fighting age  _ and _ your decrepit father along with them. Take Lord Walder my terms. At dawn I expect your answer. Wolves do not wait for sheep, so be quick of it."

She retired to her tent for the evening, her hands shaking as she contemplated what she would have to do. She had long since forgotten what it meant to show mercy. No one had ever shown her any, except Lord Tyrion and Ser Bronn and Sandor Clegane…supposedly the least honorable men in Westeros, yet they had treated her more sweetly than any perfumed Lord or anointed knight. Lord Walder was a Bannerman of her uncle, but a traitor who would die a traitor's death.

The offer would cause strife in the Frey camp. Enough of them had heard it. They knew there was a way out.

"Will it work?" Jeyne asked, nervous.

"I don't know. We can defeat them if we must…" But she needed every man if she had any hope of defeating Roose Bolton...to lose even one on something as petty as Walder Frey.

After midnight, scouts came to her. As she suspected...many of the Freys had come to the camp in the night, begging for surrender. Mostly daughters and wives, granddaughters, grandsons barely old enough to fight. They had sneaked away in the night as the men holed up, preparing to fight. 

"We wanted no part of this, my lady," Tyta Frey said, hunched and meek. "As soon as you took Riverrun we made our plans to get Roslin away from Lord Walder. We feared he might hurt the baby to retaliate…" 

Heavily pregnant, Roslin Frey Tully looked terrified of Sansa. 

"Women rarely want any part of these things," she agreed, trying to smile. "I will send you back with five strong riders so you might be reunited with my Lord Uncle,  _ Aunt _ Roslin," she said graciously. "You and your sisters and nieces all. I am glad you were able to escape, and you will be welcome guests of Riverrun."

True to her word, before dawn broke five strong riders escorted the surrendered Frey women to Riverrun. Men of fighting age would march, but the women and children could stay safe within the walls of the castle. 

In the morning, they packed their camp and began to march towards the bridge. They were met with no resistance. 

"I must go inside," Sansa said. 

"We got across. What more could we want?" Blackfish asked. "Leave him to rot."

"Vengeance, Uncle.  _ Justice _ . I will not let Lord Walder sit idly by after what he did to my mother and brother. It does not matter that he let us pass. He is simply a coward and always has been."

Within the Twins it was chaos. She rode her horse down the length of the hall and remained mounted, towering over Walder Frey sitting in his seat, shrunken and wizened. 

"Lady Sansa. I gave you my bridge," he said croakily. "You said it yourself. Our allies have abandoned us. You've freed your Uncle and smashed Black Walder's forces at Riverrun, from what I hear. Pass into the north and leave us be. You already have the Lord of Riverrun and his heir. I thought of killing the babe too late, I'll admit. You've won, so it doesn't matter, ha!"

Sansa sneered. "My mother was always too kind to you, Lord Walder. She never told me you were  _ stupid _ ."

He glared at her. "How stupid can I be when I'm here and your bitch mother, all her pups, her father, her sister, they're all dead? And I'm still  _ here _ ." 

"You didn't kill all her pups," she said, dismounting. "And even a wolf  _ pup _ can slaughter sheep."

"I've surrendered, Lady Stark. What honour do you get from not accepting my surrender?"

"It's not about honour, Lord Walder," she said, gripping the hilt of the knife Bronn had given her. "Uncle, hang any male Frey you can find who hasn't already surrendered to us," she said. "My Father said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. But I'm not much for swords, and I'm only a woman. But our way is still the old way." She pulled the dagger from its hilt and the old man just stared at her as the Tully men tussled with his sons and grandsons all around them.

"Walder Frey. For the crime of treason and murder, I, Sansa of House Stark, eldest trueborn child of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Tully, Lady of Winterfell and Wardenness of the North, do sentence you to die, in the name of Lord Edmure Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands and your liege lord, and Lord Robb Stark who you called King in the North."

She didn't wait for any last words as she sank the sharp end of the dagger into the soft, saggy skin of his neck, just as he turned and seemed ready to lunge for her with whatever strength he had left.

Lord Walder died like he lived: too slowly.

The bodies of the late Lord Frey's sons lined the bridge that they valued so much as Sansa and Jeyne rode back to the head of the column. She felt... strange. She had never killed anyone before. Her stomach churned, but she ignored it. He'd deserved it. She knew that, because she had looked him in the eye, just as Father had said, and she had still done it.

In the dungeons, they found Lord Greatjon Umber and other northerners. The Greatjon, even starved and beaten, was stronger than any man marching behind her, but she still wouldn't risk his life if she could help it. 

"You could recuperate with Lord Edmure at Riverrun, my Lord. I will restore Last Hearth to you, I swear it." His living sons were trapped there, under the thumb of the Boltons. She wasn't sure, truly, who held Last Hearth...but...

Greatjon shook his head. "I will not linger in the south a moment longer, Lady Stark. I'll be joining you."

"Very well, my Lord."

She found herself sleepless that night, and as she stood outside of her tent, braced against the chill, a wolf howled. It was close.

The glowing eyes in the trees caught her and before she could stop herself, she stepped forward and reached out her hand. She didn't feel any fear, even as the wind blew around her. 

"Nymeria?" she whispered. The she-wolf was as big as a horse as she emerged from the trees. "Are you looking for Arya too?" she asked, remembering the pup Arya had fed from her own plate, who had kissed and wrestled with Lady… She wished Lady was here, but she was happy to see Nymeria.

The wolf stayed just at the edge of the trees, and Sansa slept soundly when she laid back down.

Moat Cailin wasn't far off, and she dreaded the idea of a fight. Even with Blackfish, who was a stern companion and a good, kind man, she didn't want to test it. 

"I'll send scouts ahead," Blackfish said. He was much like she imagined a Grandfather should be. He told jokes and he kept Jeyne and Sansa close to him, speaking fondly of Catelyn to them. She missed her mother. She hoped she was proud. 

The scouts came back, visibly confused. The banners of House Bolton snapped in the northern breeze. "Everyone's dead, my lady," he called. 

As Sansa and Jeyne walked through the ruin, the stronghold that separated the north from the rest of Westeros, they surveyed the damage. She remembered long ago how Jeyne had nearly fainted at the sight of even a drop of blood. Now she didn't even cringe. The smell of rot hung over the place. Bodies were burnt, men were hanged from the ramparts, all bearing the Bolton sigil on their chest. 

"A man nearly cut in half, my lady," Greatjon said, bemused as they turned down a corridor. "Who the fuck…?"

"I know who did it," she said, surprising even herself. Gregor Clegane had been sent to hold Casterly Rock, so that only left one. Hot Pie had said he had been captured... so why was Sandor Clegane in the north?


	36. BRONN X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bronn: (bisexual panic intensifies)

Bronn was not privy to the decision about Jorah, but he was no longer in the pyramid the day before the fighting was set to resume in the Great Pits. Tyrion said that Daenerys couldn't reconcile being betrayed with all he'd done for her, and Bronn could understand that. When people had soft hearts, things like betrayal and loyalty meant a lot. He knew Ros was a little disappointed. 

"Would you care to join me on patrol?" Daario Naharis asked him that day.

He didn't have much else to do, so he agreed, waving Pod over to join them. He had taken a liking to the Queen's translator, in a friendly way. She told him things that helped with his stutter, and tried to teach him High Valyrian, which he was abysmal at. But he couldn't sit about the pyramid reciting poetry. He needed to train. 

He couldn't stop himself. "What happened with Ser Jorah?" 

"He's lucky to have kept his head." Daario said with a cruel smirk. "She is a dragon, Ser. I know you have seen little of those in Westeros," he said, in the nauseating tone of the besotted. "She cannot stand by and allow herself to be betrayed." 

"True, get stuck mostly with lions and stags these days," he said. "Roses...the boring shit."

He found a commonality with Naharis he'd found in few people before. Still unconvinced he hadn't left a pregnant whore back in Tyrosh thirty years ago… Regardless, he was a keen mind. It didn't matter where he inherited that mind (or nose) from. 

"A dragon is a different beast entirely."

"Spent a lot of time taming that beast?"

Podrick sputtered a little beside them, turning pink. He would need to grow out of that if he had designs on a She-wolf, but Bronn wasn't going to humiliate him today. 

"Not possible. Anyone who seeks to will be burnt, and I prefer myself unburnt." He laughed, tossing his dagger in the air and catching it fluidly. 

"And you're fine with her upcoming nuptials?" he teased. 

"She's about as interested in Hizdahr zo Loraq as I am," he snorted. "I know my place."

"Well, I don't blame you for being interested. He's not a bad looking bloke." Bronn elbowed Pod, who shook his head, sighing at the jest. He was supposed to find his jokes funny no matter what, that was a squire's duty, right? 

Daario seized on the jest even as Podrick rolled his eyes. "I knew you had...leanings." 

That got a laugh out of his stupid treacherous squire. 

"What does  _ that  _ mean?" he asked, stopping in the alley they were unsuccessfully patrolling. No signs of Harpies. They attacked the Unsullied wantonly but not the Second Sons, who they seemed to treat with more fear. 

"What I mean is, I know my place at my Queen's side. Do you know your place at your Lord's side? Truly?" He titled his head and smirked. 

"Boy, sometimes when you speak all your stupid starts to leak out. I see why the Queen is only interested in you for your cock." Bronn nearly cuffed Daario around the back of the head, but instead he hooked his thumb in his belt and tried not to consider the implication. 

He knew what he was to Tyrion. A sellsword, a cutthroat. A friend, yes, but enhanced by business. Certainly not...anything else. He was nothing like Daario Naharis, except in all the ways they were exactly alike.

  


The thought troubled him until he got back to his quarters, where Ros was stealing his wine. "Oh, I didn't expect you to come back so soon," she said. 

He laughed. "Pour me a cup, then." 

Ros complied, pouring them both glasses and tipping hers at him. 

"I'm sorry about your friend," he said. "Or should I be hurt?"

"Well, as a spy, I understand the sort of risks involved with spying. He's a good man, and I don't doubt he'll find his way back to us." 

"Do you want him too?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not exactly a romantic, Bronn. He's a good man and not a half bad fuck, but I'm not exactly pining for him, no more than you were pining for me when I was gone." He was much more comfortable with his similarities to his Lady Wife than he was Daario Naharis, as they sat there. They were two lowborn fuckers who had been clever and clawed themselves up from nothing. They were kindred in that way.

"I  _ worried _ ," he admitted. "I didn't pine but we all worried." Ros was his friend, probably one of the closest friends he had, and the thought of something bad happening to her bothered him more than he'd care to admit. There had been a time when he only cared about his own damn skin, but he felt himself getting softer and softer. Why was this happening to him? And now, of all times? 

"No, you're at your capacity for pining," she said with a wry little smirk, finishing her cup.

"What?" 

"Oh, forget I said anything," she said jovially. "The big arena is in the morning, rest well so you can protect our Queen!" With that, she stole the rest of the wine and flounced out of the room, leaving Bronn confused. Instead of thinking too hard about it, he just went to sleep instead.   


  


The big pit was one of magnificence. He could see why the Meereeneese took so much pride in the fighting pits, even as the whole practice seemed antiquated to Westerners. The pomp and circumstance were dull, and Daenerys, resplendent in white, looked like she would rather be anywhere else but where she was. She hated having to do this, but if Daario spoke true, it had helped quell the attacks of the Sons of the Harpy. The Unsullied lad, Grey Worm, and Ser Barristan were both still injured, and having fewer attacks was probably for the best with two of their strongest fighters laid up.

The fighters in the pits fought like men desperate for gold and glory. Theoretically they were meant to be free men fighting voluntarily, but Ros had said slavers were taking advantage. He wasn't surprised. It had placated the Harpy, but Daenerys hardly seemed interested in the benefits it had for her. 

She was interested in conquest, not politics, and that was her struggle. She wanted to do good in the world. It was respectable. But it was naive to believe no good could come of something ill. Plus, well, watching men fight to the death held some entertainment for Bronn, personally. 

But he was keeping his eyes to the crowd, and the masks… He had seen them the day they had arrived in Meereen and he saw them again, just in time for one to lunge at Daenerys. She leapt back and Daario Naharis took the assailants arm off clearly with a blow of an arakh. 

Bronn dove for Tyrion, who spun around in shock. They scrambled from the dais as the Harpies swarmed. Bronn swung in a wild arc as they tried to keep their circle together. Daenerys clutched Missandei as Jorah Mormont barrelled through two Harpies. It was chaos. People screamed and the sand kicked up blinding dust...

And then the pit was encased in shadow. Bronn shoved Tyrion behind him and reached for Podrick as the wind changed. A dragon...larger than any living creature had a right to be… landed, unleashing a blast of fire at the Harpies that had taken them by surprise. Bronn had known that Daenerys had dragons, yes, but two were locked under Meereen, and he hadn't seen them. He wasn't sure what he expected.

He was suddenly glad for the side he had chosen. Staying in Westeros and ending up on the wrong end of this… 

The beast shrieked as a spear took his shoulder. Daenerys rushed to him. Jorah called for her but ducked another burst of flames. It was sweltering. The Dragon Queen tried to pull the spear from her child. He lowered his head and...Daenerys climbed aboard. Drogon took wing, blowing those remaining in the pit nearly off their feet as he disappeared behind the clouds, a black speck. 

They all paused to watch. 

"What do we do?" Podrick asked after a long few moments. 

Unsullied filtered into the pit to take care of the remaining Harpies and Bronn grabbed Tyrion and Podrick. 

"We go back to the pyramid and we lock ourselves in," he said. Jorah was wrangling Missandei and Daario as they gaped at the sky, waiting for their Queen's return.    


In the Pyramid, they didn't know quite what to do with themselves. Bronn tried to maintain an air of calm, but no man that just watched a dragon incinerate two dozen people was ever truly calm. His entire body vibrated with nerves. Hizdahr zo Loraq was dead and the Queen was gone...what would happen to Meereen? He didn't have any answers, which was an irritating feeling. 

"We'll have to wait," he said simply as they debated their next move, safely in the pyramid. "She may yet return. Give it until morning before we decide to abandon Meereen or whatever stupidity we intend to throw ourselves into next."

Missandei looked unsatisfied with the prospect but nodded. "Our Queen  _ will _ return," she said. "I'm going to go tell Grey Worm what happened. And Ser Barristan."

  


Tyrion and Bronn retired to their chambers with a cask of wine. Podrick joined them, looking despairing. "Might be we should've stayed in Westeros," the lad said.

"Might be," Tyrion agreed. "But we're here. Either we can leave and become enemies of the most powerful woman in the world, or we can stay and make the best of it." He paused, carefully considering his words. "I...believe in her. I know it sounds pathetic. But I do. I believe she is the ruler Westeros needs. I would not abandon her yet. If she is lost to us, then we will figure it out. But I won't give up." 

Bronn shook his head. Why did it matter who ruled? Why did it matter believing in someone? "All I know is that I best get a  _ big  _ castle for this shit." He could be home. He could be getting rich off the backs of stupider men, or protecting Jeyne and Lady Sansa, or anything. But he was here. Because of Tyrion. 

Unbidden, his thoughts drifted to what Daario Naharis had said. He knew his place, he did. Ros's little laugh stuck in his ears. He was such a fool. Maybe he'd been...well. Missing an essential component...until now. 

"Podrick, go on to sleep now lad," he said as Pod finished his wine. 

"Oh...all right...Ser…" he said haltingly, refilling his cup and leaving the room. 

"He's developing a habit," Bronn said as he watched him leave. "Turning into you."

"Some people are not born with your effortless confidence, Bronn. We have to drink our way into it," he said, raising an eyebrow. Admittedly he had been drinking much less in Meereen, but now didn't seem the time to mention it.  "So why did you send our squire to bed without his supper?" Tyrion asked. 

"He's a young lad and things are likely to get ugly in the next few days. He should rest up," he said, cringing at the sound of it. Gods, was this what fathers sounded like when they weren't monsters? When had he stopped being a monster? "And I wanted to ask you something." He needed to go back to being black-hearted. 

"Then ask."

"What is my place?" 

"What do you mean?" Tyrion asked in his most measured voice, his wine cup hanging loose in his grip. 

Gods. "What the fuck am I doing here?" 

"You're still my hired muscle, I suppose." He was speaking very carefully now, as if Bronn were a hysterical woman or something. "What's this about?"

"I'm doing a lot for you, I think," he said. "More than the general duties of being hired muscle."

"And there's a Lordship in it for you. We've discussed this." He looked unhappy. "If you're unsatisfied with your pay, we can discuss that too, when things are less dire."

He sighed, putting down his wine and standing. It had been a long fucking day, and something about the Harpies and their knives and how close of a call they had just had… it was gnawing at whatever blackness he had for a soul. 

Tyrion was cottoning on. "...What could you possibly want more than a Lordship, Bronn?" 

"It's not about what I want, Tyrion. You think I crossed half a world for a Lordship? Overthrowing the Throne for a Lordship and a pretty wife is...a lot. Don't you think?"

"Well, why are you here then?"

He stopped at the door, not able to compel himself to leave. "You, I suppose." Maybe it had become clear to him during the trip to Meereen that he was no longer operating solely on self-interest. Of course, he still expected to be  _ paid _ , but it seemed more like an afterthought, all things considered. 

Tyrion was still sitting, but he'd set down his wine. "Moments like this really make me feel like I'm not as clever as I think I am," he said.

Bronn's brain was still screaming at him to leave but he was still frozen. "You're not."

They were both a little drunk, both still frazzled from what had happened in the fighting pits. The insecurity of their position. The tension in the city. There were a million excuses for what was about to happen, but in the moment Bronn couldn't think of a single one. 

He crossed the room, grabbed Tyrion by the side's of his face and kissed him. Tyrion froze. He pulled back and they stared at each other. He had made a mistake. He had fucked up. 

"Are you telling me I could have been paying you like this all this time?" Tyrion asked. What a  _ prick _ . 

Bronn rolled his eyes. "Get on the bed and stop talking," he said, knowing that he wouldn't listen to him no matter how demanding he was. They had been on either side of a whore or two, yes, but it was a little different when you didn't make eye contact or touch. Shockingly, Tyrion obeyed quietly. He'd expected more mouthing off. 

He stood there, considering his position right now. Leave and write it off as a drunken fancy, or -- 

"Are you coming?" Tyrion asked.

Was he? Well. Hopefully soon. "Fuck it, let me get my boots off," he said, sitting down to unlace his boots. The whole fucking world was a shitshow, he might as well enjoy himself for one goddamn night. 

  
  


"Get up," Tyrion said, pelting him with a balled piece of parchment. He was wide awake and dressed at an impossibly early hour, especially for as late as they had stayed up. Tyrion's depraved reputation had definitely been earned, at least now Bronn knew that for a fact.

Bronn groaned and rolled out of bed, trying to fix his hair or make himself look passably like he hadn't spent the entire night in someone else's bed. They were meant to be worried for the Queen, but right now he was worried that he had fucked up his chances of becoming a High Lord, or even just his chances to be friends with Tyrion. He'd just keep his damn mouth shut. He was good at that. 

He dressed and they walked up the hundreds of stairs into the throne room of the Great Pyramid, where the others had gathered.

"What do we do?" Tyrion asked. 

"I will go find our Queen," Grey Worm said, though he was still bandaged and wincing at every movement. 

"Don't be a fool, lad," Barristan said. He shot a glare at Jorah. " _ You _ need to leave the city," he said roughly. "She doesn't want you here, and it's our duty to uphold her wishes even when she is gone." 

"Jorah will be leaving shortly, Ser Barristan," Daario said. "As will I." He smirked. "Grey Worm, you are well-loved in the city, and you and Ser Barristan are still injured. You must stay and maintain some semblance of order with Missandei and Tyrion." 

Tyrion gawked. " -- Me? I've been here a fortnight!"

"They say you're smart. You're eunuch too. Jorah and I aren't. We will go find the Queen, and you will keep the city in one piece while we do." 

Bronn saw an opportunity to avoid facing up to his own late-night mistakes suddenly open itself up to him. "I'll go with you," he said, walking over and clapping Daario on the shoulder. "I think you could use the help." 

He didn't know who looked more unhappy with his declaration -- Daario or Tyrion.


	37. JEYNE VII

White Harbor was beautiful. She had always wanted to visit it, before she'd ever seen a proper city like King's Landing. It seemed like such an interesting place compared to the walls of Winterfell. 

Now all she could do was think of going home to Winterfell, and what it would take to get there. She had been surprised that no Bolton men had come to them as they made their way from Moat Cailin. 

As the Tully bannermen set up their tents outside the edge of the city, men bearing the fierce merman of House Manderly rode to them.

Jeyne was fiercely proud of Sansa's success in the war so far. They had retaken Riverrun and avenged Robb and Catelyn at the Twins. They would be able to get Arya back, she just knew it. 

"Lady Stark," a girl said, flanked by knights. "I am Lady Wynafryd, the eldest daughter of the heir of White Harbor, Ser Wylis Manderly. Lord Wyman is my grandfather. My father was not feeling well, so my grandfather asked for me to greet you in his stead." 

"I am glad to greet you, my lady. This is my uncle, Ser Bryndyn Tully, and my attendant, Lady Jeyne Poole," she said. "As well as my bannerman, Lord Jon Umber." 

In the south, she felt safer as Jenny of Blackwater, but in the north she was a Poole, and she would not hide any longer. The North was her home and she was not frightened, especially not with warriors as strong as Greatjon there to protect them. 

"I  _ was _ hoping to meet with Lord Wyman," she said.

Jeyne watched Lady Wynafryd consider her. She was a girl of about 20, with a calm disposition. She was difficult to read. But the Manderlys had always been loyal to the Starks...would they be now? Had the Boltons offered them more power? Had the Freys offered them lands that weren't theirs to offer? Or strong matches? Wylis Manderly only had daughters...

They didn't have a lot to offer them, and they didn't have the supplies to wait them out, either.

"You march to our city with an army, as a traitor to the crown, and wish to speak to our Lord as if you're simply calling on him for dinner?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. 

"I was hoping my claim to Winterfell might appeal to him. The crown will not venture north to save you, and I don't see the Boltons rallying men, either, my Lady. I have taken Riverrun and the Twins in a fortnight. If your Lord Grandfather has forgotten his oaths to my Father, and my brother after him, then we will take White Harbor too." 

Jeyne knew she was bluffing, but if she hadn't...their paltry army would not withstand White Harbor, but Lady Wynafryd regarded her warily. 

"I will speak to my grandfather about your audience." 

She turned and rode off, and the Blackfish began organizing men to put up their tents and start fires. They would scare the denizens of White Harbor, but that was by design. If they wouldn't speak to them peacefully, they would move on, but not tonight. 

"Where will go next, if Lord Manderly isn't amenable?" 

Sansa sighed. "Lady Hornwood was married to the Bastard of Bolton. Mors Umber may have us, but Last Hearth takes us too close to the Dreadfort and Winterfell...Cerwyn seems logical, or further west to Deepwood Motte. Bear Island is too far..." 

Sansa was fretting in her tent. Jeyne sat beside her, trying to feel calm. All of this...it was so risky. They'd had the element of surprise to win against the Freys, and the Queen wouldn't care anything for them, anyway, would she? Now the whole of Westeros knew that Sansa Stark had led an army against the Freys and gone north. 

Would they turn on the Boltons and Cersei? 

"What am I doing?" she asked. "My uncle's men could be slaughtered in their sleep by the Boltons tonight because I was too foolish to stay south with larger armies." She was worrying her hair, tugging on her braid. "We could have stayed and helped defeat Cersei first. The north could have waited…"

Jeyne reached out to hold her hand. "I think you're doing the right thing," she said. "Winterfell is your birthright and you've made Cersei look weak with your plan. People will not continue to obey her when her position is so precarious. And...even if they do... You just have to find somewhere you can survive until Lord Tyrion comes back with Queen Daenerys. You can tell her you were helping her claim and she'll burn your enemies alive." 

They both laughed. 

"I don't want it to come to that. I want to be in Winterfell by the time they return so I can annul our marriage and be left alone." 

"Is that what you want?" Jeyne asked. She remembered days when she and Sansa had dreamed of nothing but marrying handsome lords like Beric Dondarrion and Loras Tyrell and being the rulers of their castles. Having babies who would be great knights or Lords. Being princesses and Queens. Now...well. 

Being left alone sounded nice. 

She didn't care to marry, she didn't care to have children. She would be happy if a man never touched her again. But to live in peace…

They were nearly asleep when their tent opened. Jeyne reached for the knife she kept at her side as a dark shape entered. She held up a hand and a torch. "I'm not here to harm you," the person said, and in the torchlight she saw a girl with green hair. 

"Who are you?" she asked, still brandishing the knife as she stood up, Sansa blearily holding her arm. 

"I'm Wylla Manderly," she said. "I'm here to take you to my Grandfather. He didn't want the Freys to see you enter the city…" She had a soft, high voice, but she sounded brave. She was about their age, and a woman of the north. Jeyne felt a surge of happiness. 

"He wants to meet with us?" 

"The Greatjon and Blackfish, too. But quietly." 

"Of course." They scrambled for their dresses and hoods as Wylla stood guard at the edge of the tent. Ser Bryndyn's tent was close by, and Sansa woke up quietly, and he joined them shortly after, grouchy from being awoken, the Greatjon trailing behind. Though he was often grouchy. 

They slipped into the city through back alleys, up to New Castle, overlooking the sea. She wished their entry into the city had been during daylight, but after what Sansa had done to the other Freys, she knew it was best that none of them remaining in the city knew they had come here on friendly terms. 

Through the servant's entry, they found themselves in a lower chamber of New Castle, alone except for Wylla, who had stayed quiet through most of the walk, except to give them directions. Safely in the castle, she smiled. 

"You are impressive, my ladies," she said. "I am glad to see the North with such strong rulers. It's been…" She paused, her smile sharp as the knife in Jeyne's hand. "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, Lady Stark." She curtsied and left the room as Lord Wyman Manderly entered. They called him Lord Too Fat to Sit His Horse and Jeyne understood why. 

"My Lady Sansa, Lady Jeyne," he said. "Ser Bryndyn, Lord Jon." 

"Lord Manderly. You're looking well," Sansa said. Behind them, Blackfish snorted quietly. "I am glad you've decided to meet with me." 

Lord Wyman smiled. "I am glad you came. I am sorry for the farce. I had to make certain concessions to get my son back alive from the Lannisters, and now that he's home...well. With Lord Tywin dead, I worry little and less for the consequences, especially now that the Tullys have been restored to Riverrun. But caution is needed." He pulled up a chair and gestured for them to sit as well. 

"What is it you wish to discuss, Lord Wyman?"

Lord Wyman stroked his mustache. "House Stark is scattered and too weak to reclaim Winterfell. I made my pleas to the Lannisters. Wylis was at Harrenhal, in the captivity of Gregor Clegane's rabble. I said my oaths and wrote my sweet words to Tywin. I swore I had no knowledge of your location, that I had renounced Stannis Baratheon, and that I had no knowledge of the northern heirs…" He frowned. "They sent me back my son, and now the Greatjon is free….Little and less holds me to the Lannisters."

Sansa was holding her breath, and Jeyne squeezed her hand tightly. 

"The north remembers, My Lady. Your sister has been lost. Stolen by outlaws at Moat Cailin, they said." He frowned. "But the Boltons still claim she will be in their possession soon, and that they know that Rickon Stark is alive, too." 

Sansa and Jeyne gaped at each other. 

"I thought it was just a lie, another hollow reason to fall in line behind Roose Bolton," he said. "But... Cerwyn had an interesting visitor recently."

" _ Rickon _ ?" Sansa asked, numb. "He's alive, for true?" Theon hadn't...hadn't hurt them...

"Rickon Stark and Jon Snow, yes. They are going to the northern houses, appealing for men to fight the Boltons and restore the last trueborn son of Ned Stark to his rightful seat." Jeyne's heart thundered in her chest. Rickon was alive...and safe with Jon. But Arya...she was in the clutches of the outlaws... How would they ever find  _ her _ ? 

"Will you commit Manderly men to this cause?" Sansa asked immediately. She would join her brothers no matter what, Jeyne could see it in her eyes. 

Lord Wyman frowned. "The Freys slaughtered my son. Roose Bolton killed my king and they sent me chinless southerners to marry my beloved granddaughters, so that Frey sons will inherit White Harbor. I do not know if we have the numbers to defeat the Boltons. The Cerwyns rebuked your half-brother and the Glovers are likely to do the same, if Deepwood Motte is truly where he'll go next. The Boltons purged the north of the Ironborn scum and they are indebted to Roose Bolton for that. Rickon is a child supported by a bastard, furthermore." 

Sansa's face fell. 

"And what's more...the Dornish and Highgardeners are trapped in the south. You tricked Cersei and now she no longer has any footing in the Riverlands, it's true, but she learned from your tactics. She sent a sprinter force under the guise of holding Casterly Rock, but really it took your southron friends from the back. She returned their prisoners to lure them into a false sense of confidence and then blocked their return to Riverrun. The crownlands are burning, and the Mountain's forces will push Princess Arianne further south, where they will be no help to your cause or their own." 

She didn't speak, she simply listened to Wyman. Jeyne wished they had stayed safely in Essos and not tried to play this game. If something happened to Princess Arianne or the others, their alliance with Prince Doran was done. They would have nothing to show for all they had been through if they lost Dorne's favor. 

"Bringing armies there to demand the hostages' be released just gave Cersei what she wanted. Queen Margaery is no longer in King's Landing, which means she's no longer Queen, and Prince Oberyn will not sit on the council and advise her son. She has control of who sits council  _ and _ the throne," Sansa said, horror dawning on her face. "Plus an army of fanatics she's empowered." 

"She has fewer allies than she did, but still has hope that wedding your sister to Roose Bolton's son will unify the north under a Stark heir and they will help her crush her enemies," he said. "But then you came back to life, and your brother too, and now she is losing grip. It is hard to say what she'll do next."

"And you fear her turning her eyes north?" Jeyne asked, hoping that he wouldn't be so cowardly. 

"The Riverlords will not be enough to take Winterfell, nor will whatever paltry forces Jon Snow has rallied behind Rickon and Stannis's little Princess," he said bluntly. "But I will not turn you away without a little hope…" 

Jeyne looked at Sansa. "What armies are left to us, My Lord?" she asked. "The Riverlords aren't enough, the Dornish are embattled, and the North is torn…" 

"The North may yet support Rickon if they know there is a strong leader behind him," he said. "But there needs to be  _ more _ ." There was a faint knock on the door, and it opened as Wyman told whoever knocked to enter. The door swung open slowly as Petyr Baelish entered. 

Cold terror swept over Jeyne, and even Sansa couldn't hide her fear behind her Lady's face. 


	38. JON IV

Cerwyn had rebuked them, their proximity to Winterfell causing him to tremble in fear of the Boltons. Making west, they agreed Deepwood Motte would be the right next place to stop.

"Jon," Theon said, as they made camp a day's ride from the castle. They had kept close since their escape, and Jon couldn't really place the possessive fondness that was growing in his chest. 

Traveling with Ser Davos and Rickon and all the rest had made Jon feel more at ease than he had since he'd become Lord Commander. It wasn't the same for Theon. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

"I…" Theon still cringed at every startling noise and muttered to himself. As Jon's scars faded with every passing day, he had to remind himself that he didn't even know how long Theon had endured it. He hadn't wanted to ask. "I've been thinking about it and I need to...go back to the Iron Islands. I need to go home."

"What?" Jon asked.

"My sister...she is the only person who tried to rescue me, when Ramsay had me. The succession won't be easy...but...when she takes our father's seat, she may be able to help us. I'll go to her and tell her what we mean to do, and maybe…" He trailed off, and looked a little startled when Jon grabbed his hands. "And if none of the Lords will hold to their oaths, she'd be able to find a place for us, I know she would. Or give us a good ship to get away from here on." 

Jon thought about living on the Iron Islands with Theon, and it wasn't...well. He wanted to go  _ home _ , but he wanted all of them to go home. He didn't know if Pyke could ever be that for him, but trying to rally more support could only help their cause. They were already marching with the Free Folk, what would another ancient enemy be?

"I understand," he said. "Come find us if they won't accept you. We'll be riding for Bear Island after Deepwood Motte." 

Theon furrowed his eyebrows, and they leaned into each other, their foreheads pressed together. "It won't be forever. I'll send word when I get home and find out what happened to my father. He was terrible, but…"

"Family is family," Jon agreed. "I'll await your word. Safe travels." They lingered pressed into each other's space, and Jon finally pulled himself away, pressing his lips against Theon's forehead and stepping back.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Safe travels, don't get yourself killed, Snow."

"You neither, Greyjoy," he said, forcing himself to smile as Theon adjusted the straps on his horse's saddle. Jon watched the snow drift into his hair as he rode off through the trees. 

Lord Glover turned them down with particular fury. The Ironborn had held his castle until the Boltons had ridden north, and he looked at Jon with such disdain that he must have known Theon had just left their traveling party. 

"The Starks never did anything for me and neither did Stannis," he said coldly, looking between Shireen and Rickon. Davos had been confident in his plan, but as they kept failing...Jon wasn't sure.

They were offering a child Lord and a barely grown girl beside him as a possibility, and it wouldn't be enough.

"No Baratheon will sit on the Iron Throne, the Highgardeners and Dornish are at war with Cersei. They won't fight this war and allow some girl they've never met to slip onto the Throne. I will not risk the lives of my men for this."

Jon nodded. Davos ushered the rest of them away and he lingered in the yard, watching Lord Glover. "What will you do if we win, Lord Glover?"

"Beg your forgiveness, I suppose," he said with a scoff. 

"I don't know if the north forgives, my lord. It does remember, though," he said, and with that Jon followed his brother and advisor out, back to where Tormund and Osha awaited with the wolves. "No luck."

"What will we do, then?"

"Hope that Lady Asha hates Ramsay Bolton enough to bring her men to join us, I suppose," he said. "The south is tearing itself apart and we have the rightful heir to the Iron Throne up here where no one can see her," he said. 

Shireen grimaced. "I...don't know that I want to be Queen," she said. 

"That's a decision to be made when we win, Princess," Davos said. "For now, we might stay alive if people thought you were pressing your claim." He frowned. "When we make for Bear Island, we'll send a few messages."

"To Dorne, the Reach, the Riverlands and the Vale," Jon said in agreement. "They should all know. If we can crush the Boltons then Cersei's strength is gone in the north. She's embattled in the south and her strongest allies have abandoned her with no promise of who they mean to back. An unwed heir to House Baratheon could turn the tides." He felt a little sick just saying it. He couldn't...all of the politics and scheming...it wasn't him. Would he ever know peace? 

Shireen grumbled, sounding very much like her father.

"We'll make no promises, my Princess. Only implications," Davos assured her. "There are other ways to reward loyalty, after all."

Finding a ship to Bear Island was easy. A grizzled old fisherman was happy to make the trip, talking animatedly to Davos, though he seemed wary of the wolves as they prowled. It was not a long trek to Bear Island. Jon hoped that Lyanna Mormont still held true to what she had written to Stannis so many months ago. 

The Lady of Bear Island might have been of an age with Bran. Wrapped in furs and sitting stiffly in the long hall, awaiting them. 

"Lady Lyanna, it is good to meet you," Jon said. "May I present my brother Rickon, last trueborn son of Eddard Stark, and the Princess Shireen Baratheon, and my advisor Ser Davos Seaworth." Tormund cleared his throat pointedly and Jon sighed. "And Tormund Giantsbane, Mead King of the Ruddy Hall, Tall-Talker, Horn-Blower, Breaker of Ice, Father of Hosts and Husband to Bears, an envoy from the Free Folk."

"What is it you want from me?" she asked. 

He was startled by her blunt tone. He should have been expecting it. "Your mother and sisters --"

"Died fighting Robb Stark's war." 

He almost rankled at the dismissiveness, but he knew he needed to be diplomatic. "You have my sympathy for your losses. You wrote to Stannis and told him that --"

"I know what I wrote, Jon Snow. You're a deserter from the Night's Watch. Should I send them back your head?"

"I don't think you want to do that, my lady," he said, but her dark eyes were sharp and her mouth was a tight frown. She was hard to read, even though she was just a child.

Suddenly, she laughed. It was loud and somehow familiar. "No, I don't think so. A few months ago I got an interesting letter, Jon Snow. Do you know who it was from?" 

"Who?" he asked, no patience for her teasing tone.

"A dead woman, or so the Queen would have us believe. Lady Sansa Stark." 

Jon's heart sped up and he looked down at the grin on Rickon's face. "Sansa?"

"She was in _Dorne_ , of all places," Lyanna said. "She wrote to tell me that Daenerys Targaryen means to sail to Westeros to reclaim the throne soon. She was in the south mustering forces to combat the Lannisters. She wanted me to, I believe her words were, _think_ _kindly_ of her should she march north to retake Winterfell." Lyanna was grinning at Jon's amazement, clearly pleased at throwing him off balance. 

"That sounds...like Sansa," he said. His sister was alive.  _ All  _ of his siblings...except Robb… he wished Robb had known.

"Lady Sansa retook Riverrun and then slaughtered every male Frey at the Twins," Lyanna said. "Then she rode north with the rescued Lord Umber at her side. Lord Wyman Manderly writes that she has arrived at White Harbor. I have to say I admire her style."

Jon wished she had written him directly. He wished he'd known to offer Sansa and her strength to the Glovers and the Cerwyns. It could have changed the tide. Not that she would have known where to find him to write him…

"So will you join us?" he asked. "I don't know what kind of army Sansa has, or if she'll even march on Winterfell. But… her strength gives me hope that we can win. The Starks belong in Winterfell, Lady Lyanna."

"Yes, but on behalf of a Targaryen half a world away? Or a Baratheon who hasn't seen the throne since she was a child? Begging your pardon, Princess."

Shireen shrugged. 

Lyanna was looking thoughtful. "You know, by Dornish law your sister would inherit Winterfell, not Rickon. She might be more deserving."

"We can worry about the Throne and the Targaryens when we've taken the north back from men who flay their enemies and torture their prisoners. When I find my sisters."

"Your brother Robb --"

"Didn't  _ ask _ to be a King. He only meant to reunite our family away from those who would do them harm. Outlaws have taken my sister, Rickon is being hunted by the Bastard of Bolton. Robb's war was not for a crown. He was given that by his men because they admired him, but do not forget that he did not ask for it," Jon said sternly. "So will you bring your men with us as your mother did for Robb? To unify the Starks as Robb fought and died to do?"

Lyanna opened her mouth to speak as the doors to the hall burst open. 

"M'lady I tried to stop them," a guard shouted, but Jon saw nothing except the girl walking down the length of the hall, her short hair tied back the way Father had --

" _ Arya _ ."

"Jon."

He nearly ran to her, lifting her off her feet and spinning her. His little sister was here. She was safe. Setting her down, he turned back to Lyanna, who grinned.

"We'll join you, Jon Snow."

He looked at Davos, open in his relief. "How many men?"

"Sixty-seven."


	39. ROS VI

"Podrick," she said, sweeping into the lad's room one afternoon. With Bronn and Jorah gone and Tyrion busy with the ruling of the city, she found herself alone and bored most of the time. She didn't have a vested interest in the nuance of the politics of Slaver's Bay. Meereen was ancient and beautiful, and after the dragon's appearance, the Sons of the Harpy had been silent in the city, but ships had been spotted in the distance, and it gave Ros a looming sense of dread. 

Missandei had been coaching Podrick on languages. He took well to the attention. She and the stern-faced Unsullied lad were only a couple of years older than him, and his quiet, easy demeanor seemed to charm Missandei.

The old knight, Barristan the Bold, didn't trust or like her. She could tell by how he watched her when she walked about the pyramid, but he seemed a good man, so she didn't hold it against him. Most good men held contempt for whores.

"Lady Ros?" 

"Would you like to escort me on a walk?" she asked.

Podrick looked over at Missandei, who nodded her head. "We can pick up our lessons after the council meeting." She was a beautiful girl. Ros knew she was in love with Grey Worm, and that Podrick had no designs on her, but she was glad to see him with intelligent and charming friends. 

"Of course, Lady Ros," he said, scrambling up. He offered her his arm and they walked, arm's linked, down the pyramid and into the city. The Unsullied drilled in the yard, with Grey Worm at the lead and there were red priests at the corners. 

"That's new," she said. She had seen the red priests in Volantis and she had heard them preach about Daenerys, but they hadn't come so far east until now.

"I think Lord Varys wrote to them," Podrick said. "The Harpy is gone, apparently, but the Masters are still uneasy and Yunkai and Astapor were murmuring of marshalling against the city. "He thinks they might help." 

"I can't imagine how…"

Podrick didn't seem to know either. "The Sons of the Harpy have stopped attacking since the day at the pit," he said again. "I...don't you think...maybe it's a little strange?"

"What do you mean?" she asked. Even as confident as Podrick had become as he'd grown into himself, it still took ages to get any thoughts out of him, still so scared sometimes. 

"The Harpy stopped attacking as soon as the Queen left the city," he said. "Ser Barristan says he doesn't trust Daario Naharis," he added. "The Second Sons never got attacked the way the Unsullied did…"

Ros paused in their walk, taking Podrick by the shoulder. "He just says that because Naharis is a sellsword and he's a knight."

"Bronn is a sellsword," Pod said. 

"And you trust Bronn, right?" Ros had discovered that they were men cut from similar cloth. Possibly the same cloth entirely… And even as petty and money hungry as Bronn was, she couldn't imagine him betraying someone without giving them a chance to meet the price. "He's not a backstabber, he's more of...a front stabber."

Pod frowned. "I know, I do trust Ser Bronn. He saved Jeyne and Lady Sansa, he's a good man despite himself. Daario...well, the Harpy went away when Naharis left...and he killed Hizdahr zo Loraq at the pits. That man that everyone thought was in charge of the Harpy, who was marrying Queen Daenerys." Ros hadn't met this Hizdahr, but his intentions to wed Daenerys at the end of the tournament at the great pit had been known.

" _ He  _ killed Hizdahr? I thought that the Harpy did…" In the confusion, none of them had really ever asked who had actually done him in. 

"I saw it. I guess I just thought maybe Daario thought Hizdahr was behind the attack, but then…" He cringed, as if him having thoughts were punishable. 

"Maybe…" She didn't know what to make of that at all. "I'll talk with Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys about this, just in case."

Ros and Podrick turned back for the pyramid, and her head was swimming. Jorah and Bronn were off, gods only knew where, with Daario. What if he really had been working for the Harpy? Was her Bronn in danger? Was Jorah?

Were  _ they _ ?

Tyrion was drinking that night, alone. She found him two cups in, looking morose. 

"Ah, Ros, my dear friend," he said, grinning. He wanted a distraction, and she was sad she wasn't going to be able to give it to him.

"I need to talk to you about Bronn," she said, thinking that maybe that would get his attention. 

She got a reaction she wasn't wholly expecting. "Oh?" he asked pointedly. Then his eyes widened. "Ros, my lady, admittedly you'd  _ already _ given him horns…" His tone was immensely guilty.

"...What?" She blinked. What was he -- 

_ Oh.  _

She clutched her chest, feigning grave offense. "My Lord Tyrion...my good husband? Truly? How could you?" 

He sputtered. " _ You _ fucked  _ Jorah _ !"

Ros burst into laughter at his sincere horror. "Tyrion, truly, I thought you two had already been fucking for years."

"I -- what?  _ Really _ ?" 

"I mean you spent all of your free time together and...well, he's a sellsword, my Lord, and yet you trusted him with so much...I just assumed there was more to it…"

Tyrion ran his hand down his face. "I'm having a horrible week and this is just...the cork in the barrel, so to speak. Truly you thought I was fucking my hired muscle?"

"I mean you've been infatuated with him as long as  _ I've _ known him, at least." 

"Have I?" 

Of course men never realized how obvious they were. "Yes." She took his goblet from him and finished it off, refilling it and keeping it tightly. "My husband's infidelity is of little concern. I'm worried about the loyalty of the Second Sons."

Tyrion's confusion turned to concern. 

She continued, feeling ridiculous. She could blame Podrick for it, putting ridiculous thoughts in her head...but. "I'm not sure how to find out, but I think Daario Naharis has betrayed Daenerys. Bronn and Jorah and the Queen could be in danger."

Tyrion snatched the goblet back. "I'll send for the High Priestess in the morning."

"Is that who we're putting our trust in now?" She had been born in the north, where the only gods were ancient and nameless. This Red God felt foreign to her, and trusting it stranger still.

"They believe the Queen is the Savior of the world. If they can quell the uprisings with that...we must ally ourselves with them, as unpleasant a task as we may find it."

Ros sipped her wine thoughtfully. "If she's the Savior of the  _ world _ , why the hell does she need a throne?"


	40. ARYA IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the books Lyanna Mormont is ten during ADWD which, considering GRRM is convinced the events of those five books could possibly take place over the course of less than two years, would put her closer in age to Arya (who is what, 9 in AGOT therefore 11 in ADWD?) than she is in the show. 
> 
> I love Bella Ramsay but we were robbed of a proportionately aged up Lyanna who could be friends with Arya. I kept her younger than Arya but not Rickon Aged like she was in the show. Shireen is the same because the three of them were all 9-10 in the books so they're pretty close in age and can be a northern powerpuff girl squad because I like it that way.

Arya loved Bear Island. She loved their statue, she loved their trees and streams and rivers, and she loved their Lady. Lyanna was only a little younger than Arya herself, and she was fierce, loyal and shrewd. She found herself riding beside Lady Mormont and Princess Shireen more and more, Brienne and Sandor keeping a close watch on the three of them. She was so happy to have friends. True and good friends, like she had with Gendry, and with Hot Pie. She hoped Hot Pie was safe...

Lyanna was blunt, with the cool demeanor of a northerner, and Shireen was sarcastic and bright. Gendry was good company too, and she was sad when she learned that Edric Dayne had gone back to Starfall, but she was happy to have girls to speak to, mostly because Jon watched Gendry strangely if they stayed up late talking, but he didn't seem to think it was strange if she talked to Lyanna and Shireen all night. He and Gendry had bonded, too, and she wasn't so lonely if he decided to spend time with Jon, since she had friends of her own. 

The Brotherhood had not been out of place among the wildlings. Karsi had treated them kindly and they'd found boisterous company, happy to drink and swap songs. Now, their forces growing every day, they were marching a little more solemnly. 

The Priestess that everyone called The Red Woman had kept close to Thoros since their respective traveling bands had reunited. It seemed to Arya they knew each other, and the Red Woman was very intent on Lord Beric, who seemed a little uncomfortable with the attention.

"Is she trying to fuck him?" Sandor asked in his usual ugly voice one night by the fire. They were standing off to the side, but were definitely close enough to hear him. "She'll be disappointed when she realizes she's not what he goes in for."

Brienne slapped him on the arm with a stern look that Arya didn't understand. She wasn't shy about vulgarity, but she didn't like for Sandor to say foul things where she thought they could hear him. 

"What does that mean?" Lyanna asked Ser Davos, who raised both eyebrows. Arya and Shireen, neither really knowing what he meant, looked to the Onion Knight as well. Maybe he would tell them. His son Devan was blushing a little. If Davos didn't, Devan would. 

"Ah, maybe when you're older, my ladies," he said. "And I don't think Lady Melisandre has any  _ designs _ on Lord Beric."

That made Arya feel better, but she didn't know why. The Priestess was no different than Thoros, but she felt like she needed to keep away from Beric, all the same. Thoros and Beric were a team, there wasn't room for anyone else. 

It was hard to say who was happier to see her: Rickon or Jon. Rickon clung to her and while she didn't see as much of Jon during the march, every time she did her heart felt like it might burst. 

"Sansa's alive. She's saved your Uncle Edmure and executed Walder Frey," he told her, a hesitant smile forming on his lips. "She's coming north, they say. Maybe if she does we'll have enough men to march on Winterfell…"

Sansa being alive made her want to cry. And Bran...he'd gone beyond the Wall...would they ever see him again? 

Jon hugged her, like he knew what she was thinking. "We'll all be together again in Winterfell. Soon. Maybe Lady Greyjoy will bring her men to fight with us."

Arya wiped her eyes. "You said the Bastard of Bolton was  _ bad _ . Worse than Joffrey and the Queen and the Mountain… How can we win if the north is behind him?"

Jon's moods had been dark when he thought no one was looking. Arya was always looking. Syrio had told her to watch everything, and she saw his scars and his fear and heard him in the night. 

She didn't know what Ramsay had done to Jon, but she'd kill him for it. He'd taken her home and hurt her brother. He'd hurt Theon too, and Theon had saved Jon. 

She'd kill him for all of them. Even Theon. He had been her brother once too.

That night she dreamed she was a wolf again...and when she raised her nose to the air and sniffed, she smelled her sister. Lady? No. Lady was dead.

_ Sansa.  _

She was distant, but like she'd been there before. She stalked between rows of tents and she could see dark flags snapping in the breeze. She howled and in the trees behind her she heard her pack call back. 

Arya woke the next morning feeling...happy, almost. 

"What is it?" Jon asked when she found him as their camp broke their fast, sitting among the lords and the wildling leaders. 

"Nymeria is with Sansa. Protecting her."

Jon furrowed his brows. He understood, right? He and Ghost...he had to understand the dreams… Didn't they all have them?

"I dream of Shaggydog sometimes," Rickon said. "When he goes hunting when I'm asleep. I see him. I am him."

"Skinchangers, the lot of you!" Osha said, exasperated.

"My Mother said Mormont women are skinchangers, too. We can slip into a bear's skin. That's who my father is, she said. A bear," Lyanna declared proudly.

Jon's big redheaded friend choked on his stew, and Sandor slapped him roughly on the shoulder, a curious look on his face.

Arya was glad they believed her, and glad she had her dreams. Maybe she'd see Nymeria again...she'd beg forgiveness for throwing rocks at her and try to explain she'd never  _ wanted _ to leave her. 

"We shouldn't march too close to Cerwyn," Davos declared as they readied themselves in the morning. "We should swing north, come down the Kingsroad. Not so far east we risk alerting the Dreadfort."

"I wish that Last Hearth wasn't so far north. I wrote to them, and the Karstarks… no word. There's no time to make the trip."

"It's best to move forward with what we have and hope your sister has an army that can join us," Davos said. 

Jon agreed, mounting his horse and calling orders back. Their march was slow, but with every passing day Arya felt more and more ready. They would take their home back. It didn't matter how many men they had. They  _ had  _ to win. 

She just hoped Sansa reached them in time. 


	41. SANSA VII

She didn't know what to do. Littlefinger was there and he had the Knights of the Vale. But she couldn't even look at him without her stomach churning in fear, and Jeyne had kept herself locked in their room, sobbing when she thought no one was listening. 

She needed his men. She needed Lord Royce and Lady Waynwood and all the rest. But she...couldn't allow Littlefinger to draw free breath. He had allowed Jeyne to be raped and beaten. With the same breath he claimed he meant to help her, he hurt her best friend, and tried to have Ros killed, and… He had done  _ so  _ much. 

"Lord Baelish would like to speak with you, Lady Sansa," Wylla Manderly said, leaning in her doorway with her arms crossed. Wylla and Wynafryd were as different as Arya and her had been, but Sansa and Jeyne were happy for their company. Wylla was fierce and stubborn, her sister soft spoken and shrewd, like their Grandfather. 

They were "prisoners" at the moment. Wyman had sent the Freys south to "alert" the Queen of their capture, and the Blackfish had sent half a dozen good men to intercept them. They could surrender and go to Riverrun or they could fight and die. That was it. 

"He's such a prick," Wylla said as they climbed the stairs. 

She chuckled.

Until word reached them that their task was successful, Sansa and Jeyne did not have free roam of New Castle, so Sansa followed Wylla up to where Petyr Baelish sat in a brightly lit, windowed solar. He basked in the pale sunlight, sipping lemon water. 

"Thank you, Wylla," she said as the green haired girl left them. 

"I'm glad to see you alive and well," he said. "Better than well, really." 

"I can't say the same," she said, forgetting her manors for a moment. Courtesy is a woman's armor, she reminded herself. Even as hate stirred in her heart. 

"I know you must think horrible things of me. I'm sure Lord Tyrion and Ser Bronn made sure of it." He popped a mint leaf in his mouth.

Sansa frowned. "It wasn't them. Whatever horrible thing I think of you is your own doing, my Lord."

"Ah, your little northern friend. Jeyne," he said, regret in his voice. "I did what the Queen asked me to. I didn't have any sort of personal vendetta," he continued. "I just wasn't in a position to disobey direct orders from the Queen."

Sansa glared. "You could've lied. You could've left her be and not had her raped and beaten. Cersei wouldn't have checked. You've lied to Cersei before. Jeyne -- "

Lord Baelish sighed. "She didn't trust my attempts to make amends, did she?" he asked. 

Not understanding what he meant, she blinked. "Of course she didn't."

He drummed his fingers against the table. "I meant to take both of you from the city, don't you remember? I assume Bronn told you that Ser Dontos was working for me."

"I...what?"

A curious sort of smile almost formed on Baelish's lips, but then he frowned instead. "Shortly after you left the city, I was in the Vale, and I received a box. It was Dontos's head." He spoke bluntly. "Considering you had just disappeared from the city with your friend and the cutthroat who kidnapped her, I presumed...well. I presume Jeyne Poole recognized Dontos from the brothel and told her dear protector Bronn, who killed him and sent him to me as a warning."

Bronn had  _ murdered  _ Ser Dontos? Dontos had been working for Littlefinger? She had known that Dontos was not working alone, she wasn't a fool, but...she'd hoped maybe...well...once he'd stopped coming she hadn't spared him much of a thought, truly. Littlefinger thought the news would upset her, so she kept a tragic mask on her face. He didn't need to know what truly happened within her. 

"I wanted to rescue you, and Jeyne too. If I had been able to...you would be here in different circumstances, should we say. It was always my intention for you to come north and avenge your family."

The mask slipped away, only anger lingering. "You allowed my friend to be raped. I don't care if one of your pawns was killed for it. I left King's Landing and I came back and got the vengeance mother deserved on my own. I never wanted nor needed your help, once I knew the truth of who you are."

"But how long will it last? The Knights of the Vale are loyal to me, Robin Arryn's regent. I haven't openly betrayed the crown, as you have. I could deliver you to Cersei. I could have the Knights of the Vale retake the Riverlands and annihilate the Dornish. I could march myself north and ally with the Boltons against your brother in the name of King Tommen."

"Will they even accept you now that you aren't selling them my sister?" she demanded. 

He smiled. "Keenly met. I could do many things, but I've done none of them. You have avenged your brother and mother, but not completely. Roose Bolton drove the knife through your brother's heart. He sleeps in your father's bed and eats in your father's chair with his fat little Frey wife in your mother's. I loved your mother. More than anyone. You remind me a lot of her. I have not betrayed you even though I have the men and position to do just that. Keep it in mind."

She would not forget it. "What happened to my aunt?"

He looked aggrieved. "She threw herself from the mountain. She didn't like the idea of fostering Robin with Lord Royce or taking her men north, even to help her own blood. She might have taken Robin and Arya with her, if I'd let her. She was always a bit more...fragile than Cat or Edmure. I know you'd never met her, so you can't decide if that's true, but your sister would tell you the same. I saved them at the cost of my sweet wife."

He stood, pressing an ominous kiss to the top of her head and then left her sitting in the afternoon sun, taking deep breaths and clutching the edges of her sleeves tightly. 

They  _ needed  _ the Vale. They couldn't allow Lord Baelish to take them over to Cersei. She couldn't kill him now… The Vale would return to the mountains and be no help to anyone without their Lord. She didn't know where their loyalties truly were. 

The necklace Lady Olenna had given her… she'd said that Baelish had helped her… If she asked for Littlefinger's help, there was little to stop him from betraying her if the battle turned ill. He could march them to the doors of Winterfell and then throw her to the Bastard of Bolton, turn his men on hers...and call the North saved for Cersei...but…

It did not take much to find a Maester. She wrote the letter, slipping the necklace into the scroll and sealing it tightly. Before she did, she pulled off one of the gems, just in case. Copying the letter on a few more scrolls, she helped the Maester attach them to the ravens. 

When she returned to her room, she put the little gem, set in a silvery chain, safely among her most treasured possessions. 

Jeyne blinked, sleepy. She had been sleeping a lot since they'd arrived at White Harbor. 

"What are you doing?"

"I just sent the poison that killed Joffrey to Cersei," she said, happy with her stroke of genius. "I told her that Lord Baelish and Lady Olenna conspired to kill her son. I sent a copy of the letter to half the lords of Westeros. So everyone knows."

" _ Why? _ " Jeyne demanded. 

She sighed. "So he can't betray us. If he knows the crown is against him, he won't sell us to the Boltons. If he has no other allies…"

"You can't possibly be thinking of allying with him!" she said, hurt clear in her eyes. 

Sansa clasped Jeyne's hands. "We  _ need  _ the Vale. And until I can speak to Lord Royce personally...we have to assume the Lords of the Vale are loyal to him. I...to win back Winterfell, we must do this."

"And then? When he wants his reward for saving us? When he wants to marry you, or wants you to give him the ancestral castle of Northern lords...then what?"

A horn broke the silence, and Sansa was grateful. She didn't know the answer, but instead they rushed up the stairs, clutching their skirts, to see banners flapping in the wind. A white sunburst and a fearsome giant shattering four chains. 

"Umbers and Karstarks." Rickard Karstark's men had allied with Roose Bolton, and she'd heard even less of the Umbers, divided by Greatjon's absence. 

"Have they come to attack us?" she asked, rushing from the castle. The Blackfish and Lord Jon stood outside of the castle, speaking to a scout. 

"A message from Lady Alys," the scout said to her, bowing low. "She has not brought much...her uncles march with Whoresbane Umber and the Boltons...she wishes to ally herself with the north's true rulers, the Starks."

Sansa and Jeyne exchanged a look. "Can you bring me Lady Alys?" 

The scout nodded and rushed off. 

"A few hundred men," Blackfish said. "Not enough. We need  _ thousands _ ."

Sansa closed her eyes. Where was Arya? And Jon and Rickon? Why couldn't they all be together again?

Alys Karstark was of an age with Jon and Robb, and walked with a confidence that Sansa envied. "My Lady."

She curtsied. "Lady Alys. You've gotten a bit taller since we last saw each other."

"Not so tall as you, my lady," she said with a little smile. "I am here to tell you that the true heir of House Karstark is with you, even if my vainglorious uncles are not. Mors Umber is with you, and his nephew the Greatjon. Whoresbane remains with the Boltons, though to what end I don't know. His loyalty is suspect, and his power is nought with Greatjon alive." 

Sansa reached out to clutch her hands. "I am so glad to know you march with us."

"House Mormont marches with your brother," Alys added. "The Wildlings with them, too." 

Sansa nodded. 

"They march for Winterfell, my lady." She grimaced. "They don't have enough men. Roose Bolton still commands most of the North. They mean to take them on even without the numbers. Soon."

Sansa took a deep breath. That did sound just like Jon. To be so reckless. "Then I need to take my men to Winterfell as soon as I can," she said. "Uncle, tell Lord Wyman we mean to march soon. His ruse will likely not be spoiled by our departure, I hope. And have one of your men fetch me Lord Baelish." She tried to ignore Jeyne as she gaped at her. 

Blackfish hesitated, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Are you sure? The Vale…"

"We have to go  _ now _ . Fetch Littlefinger, please."

She just hoped Jeyne would forgive her. 


	42. BRONN XI

Jorah Mormont was afraid of him. He kept a neutral face, but Bronn saw the sidelong glances and the even more pronounced frowns. 

They rode for days before they found their first clue. A ring dropped amid a spiral of horse hooves. A Dothraki horde. 

"It is custom among the Dothraki that the Khaleesi of a dead Khal be taken to Vaes Dothrak to live out her days among the crones of the Dosh Khaleen," Jorah told them as they settled down for the night. "That's where they'll take her. They'll know who she is."

Daario was watching the stars, smiling to himself. "Are you uncomfortable with me because I'm fucking the woman you love, Ser Jorah?" he asked as he rhythmically tossed his knife up. 

Bronn laughed, and filed that bit of information away for a later date. "No, he's uncomfortable because he fucked my wife," he said, tapping Jorah's shoulder. "Thinks I'm angry."

Daario was interested, suddenly. "You've got a wife?"

"Aye, a beautiful one too. Ros." He enjoyed watching Jorah squirm, but he thought the self-effacing guilt would make this long journey intolerable. "Luckily for Ser Jorah, it's a political marriage."

"What political advantage does marrying a whore give you?" Jorah asked, flatly, though he didn't imagine the relief on his face. So he did like Ros, at least a bit. Good. He couldn't have his wife disrespected, obviously. 

Daario looked positively enthralled at this point. 

"The political adventure of her not being murdered by Littlefinger or deemed useless by Varys," he said, picking a bit of rabbit out of his teeth as Jorah fed the fire. "She's my friend, I needed her safe. She's clever and useful."

"That's shockingly noble of you," Daario said. "I thought you'd marry some hideous rich girl and take her dowry and her father's castle," he continued. Then he reconsidered. "No, not hideous. Stupid. A pretty idiot who'd never figure out your affections lay elsewhere." He was lording it over him, now. "That's what I would do, in your position." 

It irritated him even more that he was right. His wants had...well, they'd changed in recent months, however. "Boy, I'll make you regret the fact that I didn't ask your mother to swallow," he said, a stern warning. 

Every bit of information tossed around seemed to baffle Jorah more and more. He finally gave up and rolled over to sleep. 

Vaes Dothrak was a long ride of nothingness, the Dothraki sea opening in front of them, all coarse grass and stubby hills. Bronn had never been so far east, but unfortunately there wasn't much time to see the sights, so to speak. 

It was late in the night when the thunder of hooves stirred them from their slumber. They were still a day's ride from Vaes Dothrak. 

Grabbing his knife, he kicked Daario awake as Jorah drew his sword. They clustered back to back as a small band of Dothraki surrounded them. Not a horde by any stretch, but more than they could reasonably face in a fight. 

"Are we close to Vaes Dothrak?" Daario asked in the Common tongue. He repeated it in Dothraki, Bronn presumed. 

"Yes," was the rough answer. 

"Good, we'll just be on our way, then," Daario said, moving towards his horse. "Merchants, selling at the Eastern Market," he added by way of explanation, but the unspeaking, stone-faced riders closed in on them. 

"No, we must take you to the Stallion," their leader said curtly. "The Stallion decides."

Bronn exchanged a glance with Jorah behind Daario's back, but the man didn't seem to know who or what they meant by the Stallion. Did he mean their God or some Khal who had fancied himself worth a new title?

Daario spoke in Dothraki to the man, who responded briefly. 

"He's going to take us to Vaes Dothrak," Daario said, and he looked uncertain but forced a confident smirk back at them. 

Poked at the edges of spears and the curves of arakhs, their horses now the property of the horselords leading them through the craggy bluffs. But he could see the city off in the distance, the mud huts and broken statues. 

They were not going to Vaes Dothrak. 

They stopped at the bottom of a rocky outcropping and looked down the hill, Bronn's guts twisted into knots at the sight of thousands upon thousands of Dothraki, mounted and hollering and waiting for something. They stood near the highest point of this flood. All he could see on either side were riders.

The bloodrider who had confronted them jabbed him in the back with the blunt side of his blade. Bronn gritted his teeth, reaching for his own knife as a black shadow covered the sea of Dothraki as they gasped and clamored. 

The three of them looked up to see Drogon land above them at the top of the outcropping. Climbing off of the dragons vast back, dressed not unlike the Dothraki gathered beneath her, Daenerys Targaryen scanned the crowd. Dirty and tired and victorious, the queen yelled out to the thousands that stood waiting. 

He heard the voices of old women take up her call, none of them speaking a language Bronn understood. 

He did understand the Dothraki raising their arakhs in the air and shouting their loyalty to the Queen. That sort of thing didn't require shared language. 

"What are they saying?" he asked Jorah.

"She is asking them to be her khalasar," he said. "The Dosh Khaleen are proclaiming her the  _ khal of khals _ . Drogon is the stallion who would mount the world…who will bring all men into one herd..." 

Bronn felt like that sounded like a bunch of nonsense. "Oh well if that's all." 

Jorah elbowed him for his tone, and he elbowed him back. 

"I liked it better when you thought I was a vengeful husband and respected me," he said as they glared at each other. 

"I never  _ respected  _ you," he corrected. 

"Are you old men going to kiss? Shut up, our Queen is coming," Daario hissed as the riders who had captured them approached Daenerys, her speech ended. They pointed and grunted, their blades ready. 

She walked over and looked at them scrutinizingly. "You came to find me," she said. 

"Imagine our shock that you didn't need to be found," Bronn responded as he rose from a bow. "We need to return to Meereen. The city will not last without you."

She looked down at the horde.  _ Her _ horde, now, she supposed. "Yes. The Wise Masters will no longer be an issue, soon. Let's make haste." 


	43. JON V

He didn't know what he had been hoping for as their paltry army formed on the ridge overlooking Winterfell. A sea of kraken banners? Sansa? Anyone at all? What they had was a thousand men or fewer and a castle that Father had always said would not fall to an army at its walls. 

But it was his home. He knew Winterfell, and he knew its walls…

That meant he could win. 

"It's not enough," he said quietly, only to Arya. She was determined to fight, but he'd given her a task that would keep her from harm. She was to protect the Princess Shireen and Lady Lyanna from the fighting. 

"Winterfell is our home, we  _ will _ win," she said as she contemplated the battlemap. 

"We've had no word from Theon, no word from Sansa, nor Lord Manderly...all of the northern houses but the Mormonts have chosen to abstain or back the Boltons…we have the Free Folk and a gaggle of brigands…" 

"We have some of the most legendary fighters in Westeros, Jon," Davos said as he entered the tent. He wasn't optimistic, but he put on a brave face for his son and the Princess. "Thoros was first over the walls during the battle of Pyke, flaming sword in hand," he said. 

"Drunker than a whore on her fiftieth birthday," he said cheerfully. "A proper scrap." 

"Beric literally can't fucking die," Sandor said. "Let's just launch him over the wall and let him take care of it."

Beric did seem to be considering this. "That's not truly how it works. But I'm not against trying..." 

"You cannot abuse the Lord's gifts like that. We still do not even know what purpose he intends to keep Beric alive to serve," Melisandre said, frowning.

Thoros rolled his eyes, exchanging a scoff with Sandor. "Strategically, we're fucked. So either we do it, or we don't."

Jon shuddered at the idea of seeing Ramsay again. He could feel the prickle of a knife against his finger, which was stiff beneath his glove. It hadn't healed right. He should have taken Arya and gone with Theon. A living coward seemed better than a dead fool. 

"We will meet them in the field in the morning. If he won't ride out to meet us, he'll look a coward to the people following him whose loyalty is already tenuous, so I believe he will," Davos said. "If they stay behind the walls, we wait them out. We have reason to believe Lady Sansa will march this way, with the Riverlords behind her. They say Greatjon Umber is in her host, which could sway Umber loyalty."

"Waiting for Lady Sansa does seem wise," Lady Melisandre said. He supposed Stannis's recklessness had infused both she and Ser Davos with caution they might not have otherwise exercised. 

"We'll meet Ramsay on the battlefield. I want to see…" Jon stopped. He wanted to look him in the eyes and tell him he was going to kill him. "We may yet wait for reinforcements but we cannot wait forever for someone who may not even come. Before I decide I will speak to him." 

"Sansa will come," Arya said, smoothing Rickon's hair. "She will."

"We haven't seen Sansa in years, Arya. She could be… I just…" It wasn't that he didn't have faith in his family, it was just that sweet, ladylike Sansa with her embroidery and her courtesies was not the person he imagined at the head of a war host.

"Your sister wrote to me to say she intended to save the north," Lyanna Mormont said brazenly. "And this is how you treat her?"

"It's easy to believe words on paper when it's a person you've never met. Sansa is not a fighter, my lady."

"By my count she's won near as many battles as Robb had when they named him King," she said. "Because she's a woman, you doubt her."

Jon felt shamed. Tormund slapped his back in sympathy. "Jon's not like that, little bear. He's just a worrying type."

She looked at him with sharp, scrutinizing eyes, but seemed satisfied by Tormund's defense, and Jon felt a swell of gratitude for his loyalty. 

The lords and soldiers filtered out of the tent. Osha took Rickon, telling him it was time for bed. Arya stayed behind, gripping Jon's hand.

"I've seen you practice your bow with Anguy," he said. The youngest member of the Brotherhood, a year or two Jon's senior, had the air of a brother to the younger members of their motley band. 

"Yeah?"

"If Ramsay captures me, put an arrow through my eye," he said bluntly.

Her grip tightened on his hand. "No."

"Do  _ not _ let me be taken alive," he said, ignoring her resistance. "No matter what. You have to promise me."

"I won't let him take you, no matter what," Arya said, kissing his scarred cheek and leaving him alone with his thoughts. He wished he hadn't let Theon leave. Theon at least... understood. And there had been no word from the Iron Islands at all. Was he even alive? Had his sister taken him back in?

The morning dawned clear and cold, but dark clouds brewed on the horizon. They formed their ranks and marched up along the hill. 

Flayed Man banners greeted them. He had his full force behind him. But it was not Roose Bolton who greeted them in the field, and he wasn't entirely surprised, but it did strike him in the moment. 

Ramsay sat ahorse cocksure and well-dressed. 

"Where is Lord Roose?" Jon called. "I wished to speak with the so-called Lord of Winterfell, not his bastard," he said. 

"My Lord, my Ladies," he said. His smirk was skin-crawling. "Tragically, my father was murdered by those wishing to depose us. I believe they were sent by Lord Baelish. He has turned traitor against the crown and against the rightful rulers of the north." His eyes were glinting, as if he were laughing at a private little joke. 

He was lying.  _ He  _ killed Lord Roose. Jon could see it in his face. He had taken out the final obstacle to being Lord of Winterfell, and probably Roose's wife too. 

"Enjoy your reign while it lasts, then, Lord Snow," Jon said. "You will die today."

His sneer was ugly, but Jon felt more sure of himself than he had in days. He was slipping. Roose Bolton was dangerous because he was a respected Lord. Ramsay was his mad dog, and all knew it now. His madness would be his downfall. He thought fear could help him rule. It couldn't.

Jon had been so distracted by getting into formation that he hadn't noticed the hooded figure standing with their hands bound next Ramsay. A brown-haired girl with a longbow on her back dismounted and took the hood off. 

It was  _ Arya _ . 

"Your sister is quite a young woman, I'll say," Ramsay said. "She snuck into Winterfell all on her own to assassinate me. Unfortunately, she's a bit easy to beat. A little scrawny." He grinned as Jon gripped the reigns of his horse, trying to steady his shaking hands. "She'll make a good wife." 

She struggled against the bounds and the girl holding her jerked them roughly. 

Gendry was swearing somewhere behind him, and he glanced over to see Lord Beric whispering in his ear, holding him back. He could make it the length of the battlefield before anyone knew what was happening, he thought. He could strike him down.

"Don't," Thoros said, reading his thoughts. "He'll do something to her if you react. It's what he wants. This type of man lives for the reactions of others." 

Jon thought of all the things he could say; he knew exactly what sort of things Ramsay wanted. He wasn't a fool. But that was his little sister, and she was in danger… "Lay a hand on her, Ramsay, and no one will be able to…"

His laugh seemed to echo even on the barren field. "Don't be a fool, Snow, I need to get a son on her before I kill her. She's perfectly safe until after our wedding night," he said gloatingly. "Sadly you won't live long enough to give her away."

Jon looked at Arya, and even at a distance, he made out the imperceptible shake of her head.  _ Don't do anything stupid _ , he heard her say in the back of his mind. She'd underestimated Ramsay, but he couldn't. So he stayed still, and watched the girl lead Arya back towards Winterfell. He didn't take his eyes off of her rapidly shrinking form until they disappeared within the gates. 

Good. Safety.

And he believed Ramsay. Unless Sansa dropped from the sky, he needed a Stark wife to sway the undecided Lords. He was slipping, though. It was obvious he was slipping the rabid cut of his smile. 

Ramsay was angry he hadn't taken the bait of Arya. Jon had desperately  _ wanted _ to take the bait. He still did. He wanted to charge Ramsay and abandon all good sense and judgment, but Thoros's horse was blocking his path, and that seemed to enrage Ramsay further.

The battle started with a volley of arrows and then it seemed to turn into chaos. He had only been in the Battle at the Wall, and Wildlings weren't nearly as organized or well-prepared as the men marching under the banners of the flayed Man. It was hard to say who struck first but the combat broke open and everyone was swinging at everyone. 

Jon was in the mud, in the midst of bodies on top of bodies. He could see Tormund to his left with his curved sword, hacking at some poor Umber fucker. A fire blazed a few feet away as Beric Dondarrion almost danced past him, quick and graceful and hard to hit. 

Sandor Clegane was on a warpath in front of him. Jon thought if he didn't make it to the gates of Winterfell to get Arya, the Hound might. A comforting thought. Their men pushed through the larger army. 

And then they were surrounded. There was nowhere to go but to climb atop the nearest man that fell and keep moving. Jon couldn't breathe. Jon couldn't see. He just kept slashing.

The direwolves snarled and snapped, clearing out space as they fought for room to move. It wasn't enough. It was never going to be enough. 

He felt like he was standing atop a mountain of bodies, looking across the field where Ramsay Bolton sat, giving commands from a safe distance. 

He saw Ramsay pull out the bow in nearly slow motion. He stood, numb and dazed and tired. As the arrow caught him just between his breastplate and his arm, he gasped, his final breath escaping his lungs in a short shock. 

Ghost howled, in the distance. Shaggydog matched his cry, and a third voice joined them as Jon fell amidst the other anonymous dead and stared into the cold, clear sky, his vision darkening.


	44. ARYA V

Arya stood on the battlements, watching the battle as the wolves howled, far away and sad. She trembled. Ramsay's woman, Myranda or whatever, stood next to her, smirking. She had been the one to capture her when she'd come through the gates of Winterfell. She had remembered enough of Roose Bolton from her time as his cupbearer, she tricked the guards easily. Then she slipped inside. Myranda had played a victim when she saw her, pretending to want to escape when she realized what Arya meant to do. She'd been soft-hearted and foolish and now she was a captive. 

"You've lost," she said, infuriatingly smug. 

Ramsay had Needle and Sandor's dagger too. She was so angry that she had been so careless. Jon had seemed so afraid and she just wanted to  _ help _ him. If they killed Ramsay...well, Lord Bolton was already dead when she'd gotten here. Ramsay was the only thing in the way of their victory.

A horn blew, the din of the battle quieting as everyone struggled and strained to see what was coming. The Umber banners were first, and her stomach dropped. The Umbers were with Ramsay, weren't they? The white sunburst of House Karstark followed...and the Merman of House Manderly. Her heart pounded in her chest, an ugly look on Myranda's face as the moon and stars and falcon of House Arryn, and the leaping trout of House Tully appeared on the horizon, and then  _ finally _ the rushing direwolf of house Stark, last and largest amongst them, and a direwolf the size of a horse prowled among the soldiers, howling in grief.

_ Sansa. Nymeria.  _

Myranda was distracted, and Arya turned to run. The knights rushed into the battle, pushing back the Bolton men with a loud cry.

Myranda chased her across the battlements, not having time to draw her bow. She snatched Arya by the hair and Arya stumbled to the ground. She kicked out at Myranda's knees, causing her to stagger as Arya wrenched herself from her grasp. She grabbed at her again. 

"Where are you going? Lord Ramsay can't let his intended escape before their nuptials," she said with a simpering smile, crazed and sickening. 

She grabbed for the longbow on Myranda's back, and Myranda dove for her. Arya shoved into her with all of her weight. She watched the girl stumble over the side, her balance thrown. 

Myranda hit the ground with a sickening crack. Arya rushed into the courtyard of Winterfell just as Ramsay's men entered, led by Ramsay himself. 

He was bloodless, a coward who did not fight with his men. They barred the gates behind them as the noise of the battle grew -- shouts and screams and the clattering of steel. Arya stood there, watching him enter. Trapped. Nowhere to go. 

Ramsay's cold eyes found Myranda's body first, and his anger was palpable as he turned to her, brandishing the dagger he had stolen from her. "What did you  _ do _ ?" he asked in a flat voice, not like the gleefully maniacal tone he had used when he had captured her. 

"I killed her," she said, sounding braver than she felt, drawing her shoulders back. "Just like I'll kill you." 

Ramsay slapped her across the mouth and one of his men grabbed her as she stumbled, keeping her on her feet. She fought against them and their grip only tightened as Ramsay took her chin in his gloved hand. 

" _ I _ killed your bastard brother," he said gleefully. "I put an arrow right between his ribs." 

Mercy, Sandor had called it, when the old man had been dying in the mud. She tried not to picture it. Jon fighting as hard as he could, leading men to their death, and dying alone in the middle of it. Had anyone pulled him out of the muck before he died? Had someone who loved him been there to hear his last words? Maybe Tormund, or Ghost, or Ser Davos...  _ anyone _ . 

She chased away her tears with the image of Ramsay's head splitting open, the way it would the moment she got out of his grip. Sansa had come for them. She had turned the tides of the battle and she would ride through the gates of Winterfell, and she would save her sister and call for justice for her brother. Arya knew Sansa hadn't loved Jon like she had, but they were still a  _ family… _

The gate shuddered. Ramsay's men formed up around him, shoving her to the side as they readied their swords. She scrambled up onto the stairs, ducking and waiting. The gate shuddered another few times. Wun Wun the giant swung his huge fists at the men holding the gate and they went flying as the wood and steel shattered. He stood aside for the men who flooded the courtyard. 

She saw her sister riding in, tall and proud, looking so much like Mother… An older knight to her right, and Lord Royce to her left. A dark haired woman about Jon's age followed, with a blond woman beside, and then a huge man who could only be the Greatjon. Sandor burst through next with Brienne, the two of them back to back and bloody, and then Beric and Thoros, their swords still aflame. Tormund came last, looking less fierce and more troubled, though still batting away Bolton men like flies. 

Finally, striding through the gate with a bastard sword aloft…

Was Jon. 

He was  _ alive.  _

As he raised his sword, Arya saw it wreathed in flames, and her heart shattered anew. He  _ wasn't  _ alive, then. He charged right for Ramsay, and the two spent, paltry forces clashed. Arya jumped from her hiding spot, slipping through the confusion towards Bolton. She needed Needle back. She skidded through mud and dirt, landing on her back too far from the real fighting. 

One of the Bolton men saw her, too, and raised a dagger at her. She tried to get up.

Before he could swing down on her, he twisted in an agonizing shriek, his body bursting into bright red flames and crumpling, the fire extinguishing as quickly as it appeared. From the shadows, the red woman appeared, holding out a hand to Arya. 

"Come, Arya, the battle is won," she said, helping her to her feet and pulling her in, pointing to Jon across the courtyard just as the flaming sword met Ramsay's own. Bolton looked, for the first time, terrified. The sight of Jon alive had startled him and he was losing his footing as Jon pushed him back, fierce and unrelenting. Time seemed to still as Jon rammed the flaming sword up through his chest. He choked, the light leaving his eerie pale eyes as he stared at Jon. 

The Bastard of Bolton crumpled to the ground, smoldering and dead. Before the embers had even faded, Stark banners hung from the battlements of Winterfell once again. 


	45. SANSA VIII

The battle seemed nearly lost as Winterfell rose in the distance. Tucked away from the battle she had come across a group of people kneeling over a body. She recognized a familiar shape in the gloom. 

"Sandor," she called out, dismounting as Uncle Bryndyn turned back to begin forming the lines. She rushed over and stopped short, the smile fading on her lips. 

_ Jon _ .

"No, no,  _ no _ ," the sound escaping her lips was less a language and more a wail. She had been too late. Her half-brother… She had thought of so many things she'd wanted to say to him, so many apologies that needed to be made...and now… She stumbled as she tried to run the rest of the way, blind until she was trapped in huge arms. She'd been  _ too late _ .

"No need for you to see this, little bird," Sandor's voice was rough as she strained against him. 

"He's my  _ brother _ ," she said, nearly a whimper. "Where is Rickon? Where is Arya?" She stared up into that terrible burned face, and as it darkened her heart broke anew. She shouldn't have waited for the Knights of the Vale. She should have marched  _ sooner _ .

"The little wolf is safe," he said gruffly, restraining her like she was still a child. "Arya...Arya got herself captured by the Boltons. But she's alive." 

Sansa took a breath. She could still save Arya. "Let me go. I have to see my brother," she said, her voice calm and demanding again, even as she was reeling. He relented, but kept a hand on her shoulder as she walked over. 

"You might not want to --" he said quietly, and she didn't understand. Jon was surrounded by the strangest assortment of people she'd ever seen; a plain-faced man with an onion sewn to the front of his armor, clutching the shoulder of a woman cloaked all in red as she knelt next to Jon. Thoros of Myr, though his hair grown long and his clothes tattered, was beside her, leaning on a sword and looking over at Beric Dondarrion, who seemed a shambling corpse, not the handsome young Lord she remembered Jeyne swooning over. 

A huge red-headed wildling stood at Jon's feet, next to the tallest woman Sansa had ever seen, dressed in fine blue armor. 

When she saw Sansa, she dropped to a knee. 

It nearly distracted Sansa from the giant a few feet away, but not really. 

The Red Woman leaned over Jon, muttering words in a language she didn't understand, and pressing her lips to his. Smoke seemed to fill the air, and she pulled away, kissing him on the forehead as well, and smoothing his mussed hair. The Onion Knight looked at Jon with a pained affection, almost the way Father had always looked at him. 

A long moment passed before Jon coughed.

Sansa would have fallen to the dirt if Sandor hadn't caught her. 

It was a tense, quiet moment before he spoke. "The battle is not over," he said, looking afraid of himself and his companions. " _ Sansa… _ " 

She had no idea what to say. What to do. So she pretended nothing was different. She had come as the tide turned, that was all. "The Knights of the Vale are with you, Jon. House Umber is with you, and House Tully." She straightened up and tried to regain some lost dignity. She could not gape like a child. "The lines are formed." 

Jon was himself again in a blink. He nodded. "Sound the horns," he told the Onion Knight.

The battle was quick after that. Whoresbane Umber's men turned on the Boltons as soon as the Greatjon entered the fray. Arnolf Karstark fought till his last, but he was left outside of the safe walls of Winterfell as the Vale and the North tore through what was left of their forces. Most turned sides. The rest died.

They broke down the gates once it was clear the fighting was all but done, and Winterfell was theirs once more.

As Sansa looked around the courtyard, a dismal husk of her happy childhood, she was taken in the side by something heavy and strong. Looking down she found Rickon clutching her. His red hair was wild and long, his smile was broad, and she was so happy to see him that she lifted him up to squeeze him, though he was almost too heavy for it. 

Arya looked unsure of her as she walked across the courtyard, the red woman close by, watching her curiously. 

"I'm so glad you're safe," she said, hugging her sister tightly. How she'd missed her. "I heard you'd been taken by outlaws, and then taken by Ramsay…"

"The outlaws were much friendlier," she said jokingly, looking over to Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion. "I...Jon...Ramsay said he killed him. The Red Woman brought him back, didn't she?" she asked.

"How do you know about that?" Sansa couldn't wrap her head around all she'd seen. 

"It's quite a long story."

"We'll speak then, once things are settled," she looked around and saw Littlefinger staring at them curiously, speaking with Lord Royce. Jeyne dismounted her horse nearby and Sansa called out to her. 

Jeyne ignored her, walking by and finding herself speaking with Wynafryd Manderly. 

"We'll speak in the crypts," she said, hugging Arya again and whispering it close to her ears. 

Arya cast a look over to Littlefinger, and squeezed Sansa's hand. 

  
  


That evening they raided the larders and a feast was cobbled together to celebrate their victory. Jon sat, and didn't touch his food. "Are you all right?" she asked, leaning over to him. 

"I...yes." He sighed. "I think so, at least."

The Lords of the North seemed to regard him warily. Stories of his death had spread quickly since they had settled, and now people seemed unsure of how to handle him. For her part, she tried to seem aggressively normal. 

"What do we do now?" the Greatjon boomed. 

"We rest!" someone called back, laughing. 

Sansa didn't know what they would do next, so she stayed silent, casting a look down the table at Rickon and Jon. 

"When you wrote to me, My Lady, you spoke of Daenerys Targaryen coming west. Do you mean to hold to her after we crowned your brother King in the North?" Lyanna Mormont asked in a booming voice too big for her slight body. 

Sansa was almost glad for the direct confrontation. It gave her a moment to breathe. "You crowned my brother, aye," she said, trying to be diplomatic. "And you killed him with that crown." It had been something she had been thinking about as they'd marched. With a twinkle in his eye, the Greatjon had taken to calling her Your Grace. She couldn't abide it.

A long time ago she had dreamt of being Queen, and now the idea churned her stomach. Rickon would inherit Winterfell, and while they waited for him to come of age she could rule. Further than that, she didn't know. Bronn and Tyrion would come back and...did she want to hand Daenerys Targaryen the north? Her gaze met Princess Shireen's. The true heir of House Baratheon sat among them. What would they do?

"I do not know if we will hold to Daenerys Targaryen," she admitted. "I resolved that I would meet the woman before ever committing men to her cause, and I mean to hold to that. I did not reach Dorne and Highgarden with promises of dragonfire alone, and as tempting as locking ourselves away up here and ignoring the war in the south is, the southern armies helped me get home. They helped Lord Umber get home, and they helped us kill the Freys, cast out the Boltons and avenge my mother and brother, and my father too. We owe a great deal to the south. Friendship and loyalty. My father was a loyal  _ friend _ to King Robert and the realm knew peace. If a deserving king or queen sits upon the throne, my hope is to have that kind of friendship with them, no matter who they are. Times of war are not over, and Cersei will turn her eyes north if we don't do something about it. For that, we need allies." She wasn't sure when she rose to her feet but she stood now, and all eyes fixed upon her.

"I do not wish to put anyone out, but I cannot abide any of us wearing a crown, either. It is as good as a funeral shroud. My eldest brother is bastard born and will not inherit. Rickon is Lord Eddard's trueborn son but he is ten years old," she said. "He will need strong lords to teach him to rule."

"He's got a strong Lady to rule for him," Lyanna Mormont hooted. 

"And I hope I teach him well." She tried to sound modest and graceful, and she felt eyes on her. Not the shrewd but respectful eyes of the northmen, something crueler. She searched the room and found Littlefinger watching her curiously. "I know the Northern Lords meant well when they crowned Robb. They couldn't have possibly known what would come of it. But...the crown killed him, and I would rather be a friend to the Iron Throne than be dead, or have to bury any other great houses for the sake of a title. Those things mean less than dust to me when they cost something more precious than gold. Torrhen Stark knelt because it was the right thing to do for his  _ people _ . I do not intend to bow to a coward or a madwoman. I intend to find out what will be best for the  _ north _ . I do not wish to say I will do something and turn against that word later, so I am being honest with you now."

There was a murmur of conversation as they considered her words. 

"And if the Targaryen woman is not what's best for the north?" Lady Wynafryd asked.

Sansa looked to Shireen again, whose blue eyes seemed to swim in the darkness. 

"I suppose we'll find out when she sails for Westeros. I believe if we come to her as friends, she will be content to let the north take care of its own affairs." Sansa knew nothing. Tyrion hadn't written, hadn't sent any word about what sort of woman the Targaryen queen was. She had no idea who she was throwing her lot in with.

Jeyne was still steadily ignoring her, but she caught up to her as she left the great hall. 

"The crypts, at midnight, please," she murmured.

Jeyne's nod was nearly imperceptible even as she walked by with a rough shake of the head. He was still watching them. He was always watching them. 

  
  


Arya was already waiting in the crypts when Sansa arrived. She had doubled back twice, convinced there was someone watching her even though there hardly seemed to be a soul alive at that late hour. 

Arya began telling her tale of her time after father's death. Close calls, outlaws, and then the Vale. She nearly asked about Aunt Lysa, but Jeyne arrived and interrupted her. Arya immediately demanded to hear their own story, hers forgotten. 

Jeyne told their story of King's Landing, hushed. The statues watched them and Sansa felt...safe under the gaze of her Aunt and Father. Would Lyanna curse her for daring to hope for a Targaryen savior?

" _ Littlefinger did that to you _ ?" Arya nearly shouted, pale with rage. "And we let him in here?"

Jeyne shot a wounded look at Sansa.

"He'll find a way to lie about it. He'll blame it all on Cersei. He's already tried. We need to have him removed as Lord of the Vale.  _ Indisputably _ ." She had gone over it in her head a hundred times. They needed the Vale first, lest they alienate them. "He'll say Cersei forced him to hurt Jeyne and before he could rescue her, Bronn stole her. I know he will. It's the perfect lie, because the Lords of the Vale don't care about someone like Jeyne, and from what they said on the road they already hate Bronn."

Arya furrowed her eyebrows. "I might know what could turn the Lords of the Vale against him."


	46. ROS VII

The ships in the bay fired balls of burning pitch into the city. People screamed and ran. Ros thanked whatever god had looked out for her that she was in the pyramid, safe and away from this. 

"I take it your negotiations with the Masters didn't turn out the way you hoped," she said dryly to Tyrion, who stared at the destruction in horror. 

"I…"

"We will kill them all," Grey Worm said, his voice short. "I did tell you, Tyrion. You didn't  _ listen _ ."

He gulped. "I didn't," he conceded. He had thought that these were men of chivalrous nature who would accept defeat with grace, but the truth was no one ever accepted defeat with grace. Ros imagined them as all a bit like Lord Baelish. Overly concerned about their human flesh investment and caring little for human life otherwise. Tyrion had obviously imagined them like high lords, knights with codes of honor and decency. 

No. They were monsters. Men who traded in flesh were monsters. 

A burst of fire lit the chamber from the doorway that shook in the breeze, overlooking the pyramid. As they watched, the doors banged open and the Queen had arrived. 

She was dressed in brown leathers, her hair braided and tinkling with bells. "What has happened?"

"Tyrion offered the Masters terms of peace, hoping they would value their lives... They did not accept," Missandei said. She was at least being graceful about the mess he'd made. 

"I will take care of them," she said. 

She disappeared and Ros saw the flash of black wings against the smokey sky. She had a feeling she'd had before; this woman was more than a Queen. 

When the dust cleared the next morning, they had no Slavers and a few more ships than they'd started out with. 

"I must begin to make my arrangements to pull out of the city," Daenerys said when they broke fast that morning. "It is time. I fear I am hurting the freedmen by lingering."

"Queen Daenerys, might I speak with you?" Ros asked as the people around them began to stir and move away. 

"What is it, Lady Ros?" she asked. 

"Best spoken of alone," she said, casting an uneasy look at Podrick. She stepped out of the chamber and into the hallway, the Queen following her. 

"Is something amiss?" she asked, her eyes wide with concern. 

"I...perhaps you've been too busy to notice, but Lord Tyrion has sent the Second Sons away from Meereen," she started. 

"Why would he do that?" she asked. "I'm glad you --"

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace, that's not what I want to speak with you about. Podrick broached the suspicion that Daario Naharis has been working for the Sons of the Harpy. I know you two are close, but I wanted to warn you. I don't know if it's true -- it seems like you could find out easier than me..."

The Queen's young face looked even younger as she frowned, chewing her lower lip and sighing. "I don't...want to believe that. But... I thank you for your warning, all the same. I'll have Grey Worm look into it."

Ros put a hand on her shoulder. "Just be careful, Your Grace. It's clear to me that the world needs more rulers like you. I would hate to lose you because of  _ some man. _ " 

Daenerys smiled, a true and sincere smile that was rarely granted. It made Ros feel a swell of affection, like when she had been in Pentos with the little ladies. They reentered the chamber and Ros's eyes fell on Daario sharing a laugh with Bronn. Her heart sank. What would her dear husband say to this?

"You've gone fucking mad," her dear husband said that afternoon. The Red Priests that the High Priestess had brought with her had taken over for the sellswords and had helped purge the city of what was left of its aristocracy. The Red Priests, from what she had gathered, were primarily former slaves, and they reached the freedmen of the city in a way that it must have been difficult for soldiers and sellswords to, not sharing those experiences. Burning flesh stank across the city and it was hard to say if it was the priests or the dragons causing it.

"You have to admit there's some credibility to it," she said, a little miffed. "He sees the writing on the wall: rich people willing to pay him a lot to help them because she's not going to stay in Meereen, so whatever they can do to turn it back to their favor…" 

Bronn glared. "The lad's in love with her. Even us sellswords can have...a sentimental side," he argued. 

Ros grimaced. "Bronn, he's not  _ you _ ." 

"I never said that."

"I know, but it's written on your face," she said. "You think he's only capable of doing exactly what you'd do in a situation like this, but that's not…" She felt oddly helpless. Wifehood truly did not suit her. If she were still a whore at least she could've kicked him out. "Just because he's like you doesn't mean he isn't capable of something you wouldn't do."

He seemed to take her meaning, his face pinching in an ugly scowl as he refilled his wine. "I miss when I paid you to talk less," he said. "You said nicer things."

She laughed, frazzled and hysterical. "That's a funny way of admitting I'm right."

The Queen called them into the throne room the next morning. She looked exhausted. Ser Barristan, Grey Worm and Jorah flanked her as Ros entered with Podrick, Tyrion and Bronn. 

Missandei stood in her usual place but did not announce Daenerys. It did feel a little unnecessary for them.

"I feel like a bit of a fool," she said. "Yesterday, I was made aware of a potential threat within this pyramid." She clasped her hands together tightly and looked around. "I had grand notions of confronting this traitor and demanding answers from him. Or maybe finding a way to assuage my doubts. I got neither."

Ros looked at Tyrion, he looked back. Neither of them spoke. 

"Daario Naharis fled the Great Pyramid when he discovered his sellswords had been dismissed from Meereen. I can only assume he's left the city entirely. That seems to serve as proof of your suspicions, Lady Ros, Lord Tyrion." She braced herself against the bench, looking sad in a way that hurt Ros's heart. 

"I'm angry, I confess, that I was not the one to realize. It...I apparently am incapable of seeing betrayal until it's pointed out to me. I trust too easily." She laughed, bitter and hollow.

Were they in trouble for making her feel foolish? Certainly not. That wasn't her way, right? 

"Podrick Payne," she said.

Looking alarmed, Podrick took a shaky step forward. "Your Grace, I --"

"How is it you realized this man was false when even the cleverest among my court did not? Were you told?" Her eyes slid to Bronn, who was doing a good job of looking bored and contemptuous.

"I -- no...Your Grace. I  _ saw _ him -- he stabbed Hizdahr zo Loraq during the fighting pit… hardly any of his men were attacked by the Harpy...I just thought it sounded suspicious, Your Grace, I'm so --"

Daenerys laughed again, but it was a sad, tired sound this time. "I clearly need to keep you close by. You listen and watch better than even the most seasoned among us."

"Lord Tyrion says listening is the easiest way to be clever, Your Grace," he said, looking back at them with terror still plain on his face, even after her compliment. 

"Ser Barristan," she said. 

The old knight stepped up.

"Podrick might be a touch young, and he does need a bit more seasoning, but he saved my life, in some small way. I believe a knighthood is in order," she said. "He will command the respect he deserves, knighted by someone like yourself. Unless you think --"

"Saving the Queen is worth a knighthood," he agreed. "I've knighted lesser men for lesser deeds, to my sorrow." 

Ros put a hand on Tyrion's shoulder. He must have missed Jaime, lesser man or not.

Podrick knelt, and Ros felt a sense of pride when he rose as Ser Podrick of House Payne, a Hero of the Blackwater, and a Savior of the Queen. 

Her smile was not reflected on Bronn's face as he quietly left the throne room before he said a word to Podrick or any of them. Pod's grin dropped as he watched the sellsword's retreating back. He recovered when Tyrion came up to speak with him, but it didn't dull the hurt Ros felt on his behalf. 


	47. ARYA VI

Arya was in the courtyard with Brienne. She was an excellent sparring partner and not afraid to get dirty, or to let Arya get dirty. She had been less restrained when they had been traveling. Within the walls of Winterfell, she hesitated a little more.

But Arya never did. 

Lyanna and Shireen were watching. Well, Lyanna was watching and Shireen had her nose in a book, occasionally sneaking sidelong glances at the action as Devan Seaworth and Gendry cheered along with Lady Mormont. 

Arya abandoned Needle to roll underneath Brienne's swing and then kicked her little sword back up, swapping to her right hand to catch Brienne at the neck.

"Well done, Lady Arya," she said.

A slow clap interrupted her before she could respond. Littlefinger crossed the courtyard slowly, his cloak swishing behind him. 

"You fight like you mean to kill the Queen herself," he said.

"I do," she replied bluntly, sheathing Needle. 

"Could we take a walk?" he said, chuckling as if she'd just said an amusing little joke instead of a threat. 

If she could get him to a quiet enough place, she could kill him. Sansa had cautioned against it, even as she'd relayed his most heinous crimes to her. 

They didn't know where the Lords of the Vale would go if Littlefinger died suddenly. But what he'd done to Jeyne made Arya feel sick. They weren't friends, had never been friends, but Jeyne Poole was of Winterfell and that meant she needed to be protected, same as the rest of them. 

That, even more than Lysa's death, added him to her list. She understood Sansa's fear, that they would lose the bulk of their army to Cersei if Littlefinger willed it so, but even still her hand itched towards the dagger in her belt. Would the Lords of the Vale really care if Lord Baelish had an accident? 

"I do feel monstrous for abandoning you to the outlaws at Moat Cailin," he said conversationally. "I'm glad they proved to be good friends to you and our cause."

" _ Our _ cause?"

"Avenging your family, taking back the north?" he offered, as if she had hit her head and forgotten what she had dreamed of for so long. "And now your sister has rejected the idea of ruling the north…"

Arya frowned. She didn't care about thrones or kingdoms or politics. Her family was what mattered. "She's ruling as Rickon's regent." 

"And the Iron Throne will go to some woman a world away you haven't met? And she'll rule your family? Your sister's Lannister husband means she and her future sons will rule the Westerlands as well... Not breaking the kingdom away guarantees a long rule for Sansa. The north until she decides to go west..." The Vale, if she deposes Littlefinger… No, that would go to Edmure, wouldn't it? An Uncle is closer than a cousin… "A Stark fighting for a Targaryen...a first for everything, I suppose…" 

Arya wasn't sure she liked the idea of a Targaryen Queen. She liked the idea of a  _ Queen _ , though, and if she were kinder than Cersei or Aerys… maybe it would be all right. People didn't need to be judged because their families were bad. 

Time would tell. Shireen had been Stannis's heir, which meant she could inherit the throne too, though she didn't know if Shireen even wanted it. She was already the Lady of Storm's End and Dragonstone...

"The war isn't over yet," she said evasively. Sansa  _ had  _ always wanted to be Queen. Would Lady of Winterfell  _ and _ Lady of Casterly Rock be enough? 

He chuckled. "No, it's not. And while you lived in the wilderness and scraped with outlaws, she was living in Pentos making deals with foreigners who want to invade this country…giving away the crown your brother wore…" He was close now, minty and uncomfortable. "You love your family. You're like your mother. She would have done anything she could to protect her family…"

Arya stepped back as he pulled a sheathed dagger from his best.

"She fought off an armed assassin for your brother Bran. She grabbed this dagger by the blade for him. Valryian steel. I know you'd do the same. So hold onto it. I'm not a fighter."

She took the dagger and she stayed silent as Sandor Clegane came around the corner, his elbow jostling Littlefinger aside. Brienne was trailing behind him. 

"Come on, girl, let's go," he said, taking her by the shoulder and glaring at Littlefinger. "He's a liar you know."

"I don't know. I think he believes himself," she said quietly, contemplating the blade and her sister and what they could even do about this. 


	48. BRONN XII

All told he wasn't sure what he was doing. The streets of Meereen were desolate and quiet now, the only life truly being at the docks, where the ships that Daenerys had 'borrowed' from Astapor and Yunkai after their failed attack prepared for departure. 

As soon as Ros had suggested that Daario could be a traitor, Bronn had known it was true. It was exactly what he would've done at that age. Stupid and shortsighted. He had to know that all the gold in the world wouldn't shield him from dragonfire. 

Knighting the lad for solving Meereen's easiest puzzle seemed a bit much. It had been worth it, maybe, for the pride in his face. He'd congratulate him properly later. For now, he felt like searching. 

He should have figured Daario out sooner. He should have seen it in how keen he was to lead them into enemy territory, and to remove the closest person to Daenerys from the city while it was in chaos, and leave the responsibility to a foreigner who would (and did) fuck it up. 

His path to the docks was aimless. Mostly there were warships. One or two merchant vessels that hadn't had the good sense to leave before the attack were preparing to depart.

There was a tiny winesink near the docks and he slipped inside, knowing he was unlikely to get anything, considering the language barrier, but also having a creeping sensation…

If he were fleeing the city on a Qartheen merchant vessel, he'd probably try to be good and drunk for it too. 

He wasn't surprised by the hooded figure at the table in the corner. He approached, taking the goblet off the table and draining the rest of the shitty swill wine before he sat down. 

"Here to take me back to the Queen?" he asked in a droll voice. 

Bronn shrugged. "Depends on how I feel I guess," he said.

Daario leaned back in his chair, his hand drifting towards his dagger. 

Bronn laid his own dagger on the table. "I wouldn't." He kicked his feet up and leaned back. Waiting. He didn't know if it would be begging or reasoning or fighting. He wanted to see what Naharis tried to pull. 

"What do you want to hear?" Daario asked. "That I didn't do it? I did." He grimaced.

"I know you did, lad," he said, because it's the kind of thing he would have done. He could probably have been convinced to do it even now, but his price was probably higher than Daario's. 

"I suppose you want me to grovel and tell you  _ why  _ I did it so you can figure out if my excuses are  _ worthy _ ," he said. He seemed more undone by Bronn's calm than the dagger sitting between them. 

Bronn rolled his eyes. "Let me guess...your mother was a whore who sold you to the fighting pits when you got unruly. Father was some asshole you never met. You killed your way into the inner circle or someone more powerful than you could ever dream. But that person had powerful enemies who were willing to beat her price...so you took the offer. You sold the Queen's city to Slavers and butchers and you don't feel bad. Because you're not capable of feeling bad." He'd heard it before, from Daario and every man like Daario who thought themselves unique. No one was unique. 

Daario sighed. "See, that's what your problem is -- you treat it all like business."

_ Sentiment _ . "If you had kept it business, you'd be leaving this city alive," he said. "There's no room for sentiment here. Eats away at your brain like maggots."

"She was going to leave me here," he said, knuckles white against the cup of wine. "I loved her and she was going to leave me behind to mind this city she doesn't care about while she trampled nations into dust. I knew I was unworthy of her but it…" He finished the cup and threw it against the wall. "She wasn't going to take a son of a whore to Westeros. Meereen is even less my home than it is hers. If I hadn't taken up with the Harpy, if she'd left me here it would have been a death sentence. For me and my men. I'm not going to die for a love who wouldn't do the same."

Bronn knew it was true -- all of it. All of his justifications made perfect sense to him. 

Which made the reality harder to swallow. If he lived, there was hope of someone paying the right amount to go after the Queen. He could sell her secrets like oysters on a dock. If Meereen was still in chaos, if she still thought she needed to hunt down a traitor...they'd never go home. No castle, no Lordship,  _ nothing _ . Stuck in Essos fighting a war they had no wish to fight. 

Jeyne's face swam into his memory and for a moment he was seeing her face instead of Daario's. He wanted to get back and see she was all right, despite scolding Daario for sentimentality. She had been set to an impossible task and he wanted to know things had worked out. She was his responsibility. 

"Let's go," he said.

Daario didn't know what Bronn intended. Truly, Bronn didn't either. He could let him leave, pretend he killed him, send him off with the warning not to cross the Dragon Queen ever again. Pay for his silence with what little gold he had. 

He almost wanted to. 

_ Sentiment _ . 

They walked towards the docks at a slow pace, both of them holding their daggers, waiting for the other to make the first move.

"I've heard Qarth is nice," Bronn said, considering the ships off in the distance. 

"The greatest city that ever was or will be," he said in soft agreement. They turned to face one another, stopping in the mouth of a skinny alleyway. "How can you judge me?" he asked. "It's nothing that you wouldn't have done."

"You're right," he agreed. "But I'd understand if someone else thought I was getting in the way. That's where we differ, lad. It's not personal."

Daario reached for his arakh. 

Bronn grabbed him by the back of his neck. Their foreheads bumped together and he took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. This was...him. It felt like a piece of himself standing here. The type of person he had been or would always be.

It didn't stop the dagger from slipping in through the ribs. 

"I have things waiting for me back in Westeros," he said. "You understand." He tried to sound light, to shake the strange wave of nausea. He waited for Daario to die before he took the dagger - with the naked woman on the hilt - stuck it in his belt and carried the body to the water. People gawked, but said nothing. They had probably had a bellyful of death over the past few weeks. 

He watched the pale, bloodless shape of Daario Naharis slip into the blue of the bay. He closed his eyes to try and shake the image, and when he looked out to the horizon, he saw black sails in the sunset. A golden kraken upon a dark field. Ships from Westeros. 

He made his way to the pyramid and found Tyrion drinking wine and staring off into the distance. 

"Greyjoy ships at the docks," they said at the same time.

Tyrion continued. "They haven't come into the city yet. I'd bet it's the brother. Euron. He's been traveling the world for some time, they say."

Bronn didn't have to speak, a relief in the moment as he sank down next to Tyrion. He'd avoided him since his return, but feeling raw and uncomfortable, this was where he needed to be. 

He passed the stolen dagger to Tyrion, who gazed at it sternly, understanding what it meant. 

"I see."

Bronn took it back gingerly, as though it might hold some curse. "I've been avoiding you," he said bluntly. 

"Was I that bad?" he asked. "I've never had a complaint before so I admit I was shocked."

"You  _ pay  _ people not to complain," he pointed out. 

"I'm paying you quite a lot…" He shrugged, and grinned, and whatever anger he might have directed at Bronn seemed to dissipate. 

"Not for that."

"So it  _ was  _ that bad."

Bronn laughed. "It was not the worst first tumble I've had, m'lord," he said. "I don't know how we continue our arrangement, is all." He didn't want Tyrion to think he'd gone soft, that he was happy to do his bidding in exchange for winedrunk kisses. That wasn't the truth of it. 

Tyrion stared at his wine. "I have promised you a lot. I don't think my promises change just because you want to fuck me. Don't cry if I need to marry and produce an heir, and I won't cry when you go home to your pretty wife."

He laid it out so simply. "You'll still pay me?"

"I mean I feel like we could negotiate a new --"

"You're not good enough to get a discount," he said, immediately cottoning on. "Our business arrangement is separate. Nothing that happens in here changes it. Right?"

"Right." They shook on it, which seemed ridiculous, but that was what they'd always been, right? "I suppose we should go see what the fucking Greyjoys want," he said with a sigh. 

Grey Worm and his men brought in two people: a woman and a man. The man of an age with the Queen and the woman a couple of years older, with short hair and an ax hanging from her belt. 

"Lord Theon," Tyrion said, cold. "I had not thought to see you here, last I heard you were killing little boys in Winterfell." 

Theon Greyjoy, not Euron, then. "I...it's been a long time, Lord Tyrion," he said, oddly stunted. 

Daenerys arrived shortly after they did. 

Tyrion jabbed at the Greyjoy lad, who seemed to bear his cruelty with a sort of broken insecurity. Tyrion's anger died in his throat when he picked up on it. Something had  _ happened  _ to that boy. 

The female Greyjoy introduced herself as Asha Greyjoy, rightful ruler of the Iron Islands. They had been usurped by their murderous uncle and he meant to come to Meereen to treat with Daenerys. It had been a smart decision to beat him to it, Bronn had to give them that. 

"Euron will bring you enough ships to take Westeros, aye, but in exchange for, to quote him, his big cock," she said dryly. 

"And I suppose your offer is free of any marriage demands?" Queen Daenerys asked, just as drole in response.

"I don't demand," she said. "But I'm up for anything."

Asha Greyjoy grinned at Daenerys who grinned right back. 

"Are we truly agreeing to grant the Iron Islands independence, Your Grace?" Tyrion asked. 

Bronn was getting bored of the politics. They needed to wrap this up. He'd had a long enough day. 

"When I take the throne, there will be time to discuss demands. Asha is offering us what we need to leave Meereen."

He nodded, but exchanged a skeptical look with Bronn.

Daenerys and Asha clasped hands, cementing their alliance. With the ships they'd brought, they would be able to sail from Meereen within the fortnight. 

He was tired of this city of blood and glad to leave it. 

That night he woke up near midnight. Tyrion was asleep, which was rare for him. They both had a tendency to sleep little. He slipped out of bed and found his clothes where they had been discarded. 

As he left the chamber, returning to his own, still lacing up, he heard footsteps coming from the upper level of the pyramid where the Queen slept. He reached for his dagger as Asha Greyjoy rounded the corner, lacing up her tunic, her short hair distinctly ruffled.

She looked at him lacing his jerkin and he looked at her, doing the same. He dropped his hand from the dagger. 

"Late night council meeting?" he asked, casting a look beyond her to the stairs. 

"I could ask the same of you," she said, her eyes at Tyrion's chamber door. "I'd heard the Imp was depraved, but I hadn't realized --"

They both narrowed their eyes at each other, mistrustful of their similarly aligning depravities. 

"You've no idea," he said with a snort.

  
  


Daenerys spent days negotiating with the High Priestess, and as they prepared to make their departure. The priests would maintain the peace in the three cities, the Lord of Light would shine their beacon against the blight of slavery. And it would be no concern of theirs any longer. 

Within the fortnight, the ships left the bay. Bronn looked off towards the west, standing between Ros and Tyrion. The dragons soared overhead, their roars filling the air. 


	49. JON VI

He considered the letter for the fifth time as if it would say something different. 

_ Jon,  _

_ My uncle murdered my father. He means to kill Asha and I. I asked her to come north but she wants to pledge her ships to Queen Daenerys, to keep Daenerys from allying with Euron. He wants to use her dragons. I will speak of the north's plight when we arrive in Meereen. I have not forgotten you or Winterfell. I hope you find Arya and the men you need.  _

_ Do not do anything stupid.  _

_ Theon.  _

The Bolton threat had been eradicated from the north, so truly they didn't need the Ironborn at all. But the idea that Theon was a world away chewed a little hollow place in his chest. He looked at the aggressively written "do not do anything stupid", and wondered if Theon would think of dying as stupid. 

He moved on from Theon's letter to the next scroll he had received. The wax seal had no adornment, so he couldn't have said who it was from. When he cracked it, he immediately recognized the neat script though. 

_ Jon,  _

_ I hope this letter reaches you in time. I have discovered important things about the Long Night in my time in the Citadel. There is a stronghold of dragonglass underneath the castle of Dragonstone. What's more, there are legends of a Horn that can destroy --  _

A knock interrupted him. 

"Come in," he said. 

The Red Woman glided in, looking underdressed for the cold, as she always did. He had stopped asking after it. 

"Lady Melisandre. Concerns about the war should be taken to my sister --" He did not rule Winterfell, and he found that relieving. He had barely been Lord Commander a few scant months and his disappearance had led not to concern or a search, but a coup. They had hated him because he wouldn't compromise what was right. As much as he hated his sister took the brunt of that, now, he was relieved it was no longer his battle.

He'd already died once fighting those battles. 

"It's not about this paltry war," she said ominously. "It's about  _ you _ ." 

Jon had been avoiding the priestess and her ilk since his resurrection. He felt wrong and faded. "My lady --" 

She sat across from him, her demeanor becoming more businesslike as she folded her hands across her lap. The jewel in her necklace glowed. "Jon Snow. I...had believed myself powerless until you were struck down. That is an odd feeling. The Lord has lifted me into his light, and I did so many things in pursuit of his truth -- but things kept...turning for ill. I was wrong more than I'd  _ ever _ been wrong." This was oddly vulnerable for the priestess, though her tone was still brisk. "But I know our Lord has a purpose in mind for you, just as he does Beric Dondarrion. He has  _ Chosen _ you." 

"I don't want to be Chosen," he said. "Whatever you ask of me, you can ask of Lord Beric. Our circumstances are the same." 

Melisandre almost scoffed. "It doesn't work like that. He is a soldier.  _ You  _ could be Azor Ahai reborn." She stood again and leaned over the table towards him. She didn't speak with the surety she had when she had come to the Wall with Stannis Baratheon, but he supposed the man's defeat had tempered her own expectations. "I thought my visions were obscured by snow, but I think my visions were  _ of  _ snow. Of you. You may be who the Lord sent me here to find. You have a part to play in the wars to come, and I do not want you to forget that." 

Jon sighed. "What part?" 

"The Great Other is acting through his servants. Servants of cold and darkness. They march on the Wall and they will spill over into Westeros...they will spread their pestilence across the world. Unless you work to stop them." 

"I tried," he said. "I tried to let the Free Folk through to choke off their army. But no one listened. I wasn't there to fight with my brothers, and they turned on me..." As soon as he'd left the Wall for one brief mission, he'd been cast aside. What use was he serving? 

"Your sister has made friends and allies, has she not? The Iron Throne is nothing in comparison to what lies beyond the Wall. Stannis knew it, and you know it. You need to tell them. Make them see. Stannis thought to put the realm before the throne, and Daenerys Targaryen will need to do the same." 

The door opened again, Arya peaking through. "I --" 

"Come in," he said, hoping her presence would end this conversation sooner. "Lady Melisandre was just finishing up." 

Melisandre smiled. "Jon, you have been Chosen by the Lord. If the rumors about Dragonstone are true...your sister's allies will have a part to play, too." With that, she turned to leave. "You are ice, and Queen Daenerys has awoken fire from slumbering stone. You must find common cause, or we will all be doomed." Her gaze lingered on Arya for a moment, a hand on his sister's shoulders. 

Then she shut the door behind her and she was gone. The room felt a little cooler, somehow, and Jon felt himself breathe again. 

"What did she want?" Arya asked, suspicious. 

"To tell me I'm the Lord's Chosen and that we'll be at war with the White Walkers soon," he said. He thought she'd laugh, because it sounded ridiculous to his ears as he said it, but Arya's face remained serious. 

"I believe her," she said. "You and Lord Beric both came back…" She paused. "She saved me, during the battle. Lady Melisandre. A Bolton man was trying to capture me and she killed him. Didn't even touch him and he burned." 

Jon hadn't known. Admittedly, he'd been somewhat distracted by his own death for the past few weeks. 

He hit his hands against the desk, frustrated and tired. "I have a letter from the Citadel saying that the only place to get more of the material that kills White Walkers is Dragonstone, and I have a sister who is trying to overthrow the throne on behalf of a Targaryen a world away, who will be ferried here by --" 

He paused and Arya narrowed her eyes. 

"By Theon, who is our ally." 

Her voice was matter of fact. "Well, Shireen is the  _ heir  _ to Dragonstone. She'd let you mine it, she says Stannis had already agreed to --" 

"Dragonstone is too close to King's Landing. We can't just show up and start mining, Cersei will take it as an act of aggression. It's too dangerous while the war's on, even though we need it." Jon threw his quill down in frustration. "We have a bit of dragonglass, but not enough. And Sansa won't commit men to that cause until the threat in the south is defeated. It would spread us too thin on all fronts if we tried to take an army beyond the Wall." 

"Northmen will fight for you," she said. "They'll want to protect their homes more than they'll want to go south. And Sansa...she hasn't talked about sending  _ anyone _ south. If she did it'd be the Riverlords or the Vale --" 

"Sansa doesn't  _ have _ the Vale." He paused. Arya looked as though she had made a slip of the tongue. Told something she wasn't meant to tell. Just what were his sisters planning behind his back? "And someone will have to go south to meet with Daenerys. She won't just take Tyrion's word that we're friends. I suppose Melisandre thinks it should be me, but Sansa means to go herself..."

Arya bit her lip. "I don't know. We don't even know  _ when  _ Daenerys will be arriving in Westeros. We may have time yet to go beyond the wall and stop the White Walkers before. King's Landing is besieged… Cersei won't come north, she doesn't have the men. Maybe we could end this war before the next one starts."

Jon nodded. He'd have to speak with Sansa about it. He turned back to the letter Sam had written as Arya sat with him, her silence companionable. 

_ \-- legends of a horn that can destroy the Wall. If the stories of the Children's magic are indeed true, the White Walkers will need that horn to get through the Wall. You mentioned Mance Rayder claiming he had such a thing. If there is a way to find it, even with Mance Rayder dead, it would keep them contained beyond the Wall.  _

_ Some sources claim that Valyrian steel can destroy them, but we'd have to test that out. I'm not sure.  _

_ Fire, dragonglass, Valyrian steel, and the Horn of Winter. We need all of them. _

_ Warmest regards, _

_ Sam, Gilly, and Little Sam.  _

Jon leaned back in his chair, his mind rolling over the new information. "We  _ need  _ to go beyond the Wall and stop them before they find this supposed horn that can destroy the Wall. It won't matter who sits on the throne if they get through. It's just a matter of how soon we can do it." 

They needed fire. Daenerys had fire. It seemed that even as much as he mistrusted it, his sister's ties to her arrival might benefit them. 

Put the realm before the throne. Would Daenerys agree?


	50. JEYNE VIII

Jeyne was exhausted. There wasn't much to do, truthfully, but wait, and that was really the tiring part. Arya had come from Littlefinger's clutches. She mistrusted him as they all did, and Jeyne was surprisingly grateful for her loyalty. 

Sansa was playing the game of thrones, even all the way up north where they should be safe. So they hadn't spoken much since returning to Winterfell. 

Baelish's keen eyes prickled the back of Jeyne's neck every time she took to wandering the halls of the castle. She felt half an intruder in her own home as she ducked past Lords of the Vale and Free Folk alike. Every washer woman could be reporting back to him. She didn't know any of them, as she had in the old days.

The last they'd heard the Greyjoys were sailing east to pledge themselves to Daenerys. Jon had said little of what had transpired in Winterfell while he and Theon were captives of the Boltons, but Theon had won his trust. And Rickon was alive, which meant Theon hadn't truly killed him or Bran as the stories had said. 

So Jon's most trusted ally was sailing to bring back Jeyne and Sansa's trusted allies to defeat Cersei once and for all. 

As she crossed the courtyard, the lady knight, Brienne, regarded her solemnly. She was close with Arya, and an interesting and kind woman, despite her fearsome appearance. 

"Lady Jeyne," she said, a little halting. "Are you well?"

"Oh, quite," she said. "And yourself?"

"Well enough, all considered." She was a comfort, tall and strong. Nearly as tall as Sandor Clegane, who stood just behind her. Once, he'd frightened her so much, but he had been the one who had put her with Sansa when Lord Stark's men had been killed. The Queen had taken her away after, but she didn't forget. He had looked after Sansa and Arya both. Truly she felt safer with him in Winterfell, safer than she did around the perfumed lords who had once given her comfort.

Lord Baelish crossed the yard, speaking to Sansa. He trailed behind her like a stray dog pleading for attention, and the sight of him made her stomach churn. Sansa kept her chin up, unswayed but not unkind.

"You all right?" The Hound asked, shrewd. 

"I just...wish that we could have won Winterfell without certain alliances," she said, trying to maintain a mask for grace. 

Arya had told them that Littlefinger seemed to  _ want _ to pit them against each other. To sow chaos within House Stark. To what end, she didn't know. But they had decided it safest to keep their own plans below ground, because he likely didn't know much about the crypts, and even the strongest bribery wouldn't compel many down there. 

She didn't like being watched.

"Lady Sansa wishes for us to gather in the Great Hall," the new Maester said to them before anyone could respond.

Brienne had a sisterly hand on Jeyne's shoulder as they walked in. Her heart pounded. 

Sansa sat at the table flanked by her brothers and her sister. She waved Jeyne over. She took her seat next to Arya, who reached out an awkward but comforting hand. 

"We've received word that Daenerys Targaryen has sailed past the Stepstones," Sansa said. Jeyne hadn't known that, but this must have been what she had been waiting for. This was the moment. "The Dornish navy has joined her, allegedly." So Doran had been playing more sides, as they'd suspected. "She will likely land on Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen as they prepare their assault on King's Landing." She shuffled through scrolls as if they hadn't been memorized. 

Jon cleared his throat. "Dragonstone has dragonglass mines beneath it. A Maester of the Night's Watch has written to me -- dragonglass is what defeats the White Walkers and their army of undead," Jon said. "They are trying to find their way through the Wall. They will take over everything. Kill every man living. I've seen these creatures before, they're like nothing you could imagine even in the worst nightmare." 

Jeyne felt a tension pass through the room, as if maybe some of the men were stifling a laugh at his earnest belief in these stories, but they had to remember that Jon had been dead not a fortnight ago, right? And Lord Beric stood in the corner with the Red Priests, his once handsome face ruined by death even as he walked and talked. 

They weren't just stories, they were  _ here _ . Dragons were flying west. If those stories were true...they all had to be. 

"I will keep my promise and meet Daenerys Targaryen and tell the Lords of the North if she is worthy of their loyalty, and I will petition her to allow us to mine dragonglass, as Lady Shireen has previously permitted." Sansa cast a withering look at men who meant to laugh at her brother. "I would have as many men stay north to prepare for the possibility of this threat as possible. If you're amenable, Ser Bryndyn, Lord Royce --" She addressed him quite deliberately. 

"Pardon me," Littlefinger interrupted. "As Lord Protector of the Vale, it is  _ my _ permission you need --"

Sansa arched an eyebrow. "Oh, I had quite forgotten, Lord Baelish. Please remind me how you became Lord Protector of the Vale."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "I was married to your aunt, as you know, and after her tragic death I became Lord until her son comes of age --" 

A disdainful smile curled on her lips. "And how did she come to die?"

Jeyne's heart pounded. 

"As I've been forced to relive over and over again, she threw herself from the mountain --"

"That's a  _ lie _ ," Arya said, forcefully. 

He blinked. Lord Royce raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Lord Corbray. 

Arya pointed at him, rising from her chair. "Lord Baelish  _ killed _ Lady Lysa," she said. "He pushed her through the Moondoor because she didn't want to march north. I lied to the Lords of the Vale about it because he told me to," she continued, trying to look young and scared, despite being neither. "I thought he might do something to me --"

Littlefinger stumbled over whatever lie he might try on next. Jeyne felt a triumphant swell as Lord Royce stood, moving away from the crumbling Lord of the Vale. 

"That's -- Arya is a young girl, she doesn't know what she saw…" He stumbled. "She must have dreamt --"

Sansa looked at Jeyne, and she forced herself not to smile. Backing the mockingbird into a cage of his own making felt better than it had any right to.

"That's not all Lord Baelish has done," she said, finding her voice. She looked up and instead of focusing on Littlefinger's pinched face, she looked to the Hound and Brienne, who stood near the back. Brienne had a look of concern on her face. 

"What do you mean, my lady?" Lord Royce asked, brusque but not unkind.

"Lord Baelish took me into his brothel when Lord Stark was killed. The Queen scattered the Stark household. She took me away from Sansa and gave me to Lord Baelish. I was sold to men. Beaten and whipped," she said, her breath hitching. It felt nauseating to speak it aloud, but it was something that needed to be said. She had tried to push it away, relegating it only to her nightmares. 

Jon stood from where he sat, a hand on his sword. Ghost and Shaggydog growled. Nymeria was prowling outside the castle, but her distant howl broke the revere.

"I was  _ thirteen _ ," she said. "A girl. A girl forced to be a whore at the whim of a monster who kills women who no longer serve him. Lord Varys believed he meant to sell me to the Boltons in Arya's stead to fool the northern lords into supporting Roose Bolton. I'm not sure if that was his intention, but he tortured me for over a year until Ser Bronn and Lord Tyrion found out and took me away."

Littlefinger's head was bowed. 

Brienne's face was plain with fury, and The Hound's too. It made her feel better. Stronger. People cared about her. People wished to protect her… It made her miss Bronn and Podrick and Ros so much she ached. They would defend her, tell all these lords she was speaking the truth. 

"Is this true?" Lord Royce asked, his eyes narrowed as he rounded on Littlefinger, whose posture had become so straight he looked in danger of snapping in half. 

"Queen Cersei demanded certain things of me while I served her," he said, holding up his hands. "I dared not defy the Queen, or else I wouldn't have been here to help rescue the north. I had intentions of delivering Jeyne to safe --"

"Did Cersei frequent your whorehouses enough that you felt you could not convincingly lie about Jeyne's whereabouts?" Ser Davos asked. "You are an accomplished liar, are you not?"

"I --"

"Jeyne isn't all the Lannisters gave you, Lord Baelish," Sansa said. "He was made Lord of Harrenhal, and they promised him the Vale. He didn't come courting my aunt out of affection, it was because he'd promised the Knights of the Vale to the Lannister cause." That must have been something Tyrion had told her, because Jeyne couldn't remember if she'd ever known that, her panic and pain the loudest sound in the room to her own ears. "He betrayed them too, and Lysa. And Arya. He is nothing but self-serving and treacherous and has done nothing but cause pain to my family."

There was a pause as all the air seemed sucked out of the room. 

"As regent of Lord Rickon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, for the crimes of murder, rape, slave trading and treason, I sentence you to die, Lord Baelish."

"No! No! I only did --" He looked almost feral as he sought someone who looked open to his lies. No one did. "Sansa, I loved your mother. More than anything. I did what I had to do to bring myself to you so I could serve you as I wished to serve your mother --"

"You loved my mother, you said, but you set her sister against her. You tried to set my sister against me, too," Arya said, her lip curling. "You killed Jon Arryn and Lady Lysa, and betrayed us all." The final blow. An audible gasp passing through the Lords and Ladies of the North and Vale.

Doomed and desperate, Baelish turned to run. Jeyne saw him wrench himself from someone's grip and make his way to the door.

Brienne and Sandor were so immense that they took up the whole doorway, and Brienne's leg shot out, tripping him to the stone floor. Sandor grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up as Sansa and Jeyne walked across the Great Hall. 

"They say the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword," she said. "But I'm not much for swords, and I am not a man. However, I will look you in the eye, like my Lord Father would have done," Sansa continued. "Sandor, would you do this for me?"

A screaming and thrashing Littlefinger was taken out into the courtyard. Knights and Wildlings alike paused in their ministrations to watch this morbid parading of Lords and Knights. 

There was no block, so Sandor just kicked the legs out from under him. On his hands and knees in the dirt, tears streaked his face. 

"Lady Sansa, I'm --"

Sandor didn't let him finish his last lie, one firm hit taking his head. He sheathed his sword and stepped back to put a hand on Jeyne's shoulder where she stood and watched. 

It was over, but really it had only just begun.


	51. ROS VIII

"You know, I always liked sailors," she said as Asha Greyjoy laughed merrily, a wineskin in her hand.

"And I always liked whores," she said with a wink. 

"I thought your taste was for Queens," she shot back with a wink. 

They both continued laughing, a little deep in their cups that night as a storm raged around Dragonstone. They had landed the afternoon previous, and Daenerys had allowed for a bit of merriment before the real struggle started. 

The homecoming had been bittersweet, she could tell. The Queen had been born here, but had no memories of this place as home. It had been a surprise to pass through the Narrow Sea and find Dornish ships waiting for them. 

Prince Doran had sent his eldest son to meet with, and Ros suspected to court, Queen Daenerys. Quentyn was serious and boring, scared of girls and content to read, but the Dornish navy seemed to get on well with the Greyjoys. 

Despite the headaches that plagued most of them, they roused early to meet Daenerys at the painted table, a huge map of Westeros. She stood by the cut out of Dragonstone, moving little figures across the table.

"I want word sent to the North of our arrival, if you're right and Sansa Stark has some affection for our cause, we may need her if Cersei does not surrender." She was speaking briskly to Tyrion, who stood next to her.

"Cersei  _ will not  _ surrender," Tyrion said. 

"Well, I'm going to demand it anyway," she said. "Write to her. She and the false King Tommen may live out their days in peace and prosperity anywhere in the world if she surrenders their false claim to the throne." 

Reasonable terms that no one sitting atop a throne would ever agree to, least of all a woman like Cersei Lannister. 

"If she does not meet these terms, the siege of King's Landing will continue, and she will be besieged from both land, sea, and air." Daenerys clasped her hands in front of her. "I did not come to Westeros to be Queen of Ashes. I do not mean to rain fire down upon a city because one woman is my enemy."

"And unlike any other Lord of Westeros, the deaths of innocents will not compel her," Varys said. "She will not see the suffering of her people and ask for you to stop. She will let every man, woman, child, dog and rat burn. That is where you are different from her, Your Grace, and you  _ must  _ remain that way." 

Ros knew what Cersei did to innocents. She hoped Jeyne was well, wherever she was. Varys was right, and Daenerys knew it. 

"The Dornish army and the Highgardeners are still embattled in the crownlands, Your Grace," Quentyn said. "My sister, Princess Arianne, and my uncle, Prince Oberyn, lead our men against Gregor Clegane and the Lannister army. I returned to Dorne at my Father's behest to join you." He spoke to Daenerys but stared firmly at her left earlobe. "Their numbers are dwindling. Cersei has the smaller force, right now, but they are cut off from Riverrun, where supplies and resources await them."

"What are you suggesting, Prince Quentyn?" Daenerys asked.

Ros watched his plain face redden a little. Maybe if she told the lad Daenerys would never consent to marry him, he could look her straight in the eye.

"If you march your Unsullied into the crownlands to join my sister and Lord Willas, your numbers will overwhelm the Westerland forces and free Lord Edmure. The unified army will overwhelm King's Landing easily, and they will be in your debt." 

"I will think about it," Daenerys said, relieving him of the tension. 

As Daenerys and her generals finished up minor discussions on strategy, Jorah stepped out and fell in step with Ros. She was happy to see him. He'd been in good spirits the past few days, and that made her glad. She wished she could say the same for her absent husband. 

"Do you think she'll do it?" she asked him. Between coups and dragonfire and sailing west, she hadn't spoken to Jorah much since the fighting pits, but she tried to maintain a friendliness that let him stop being so bloody awkward. 

"It's risky," he said. "Weakening her position here in Dragonstone to be out in the open… But without a naval force, Cersei might not be able to do anything about us making our way up the Blackwater... " 

Ros nodded. "I don't have a mind for strategy," she lied. "But I understand that. Maybe we should have a cup of wine and try not to think about it for a few hours." 

Jorah rolled his eyes, but he seemed ready to agree, but then someone ran up the stairs, panting. They turned back to the map room as the sailor entered. 

"Greyjoy ships are sailing into Blackwater Bay," he said, panting.

Daenerys looked up at Asha, who turned to her brother with wide eyes. 

"It appears our Uncle Euron has found a new Queen to wave his cock at," she said in a measured voice, knowing that all of the eyes on her were scrutinizing her every movement in that moment. "He's brought the Iron Fleet into the war, as he swore he would."

Theon turned to the sailor. "Have our ships and the Dornish ships move to the northeastern side of the island, as far away from Blackwater Bay as they can while being within reach of us," he said, nearly a bark. His confidence wasn't what it was, but Ros hadn't had the heart to ask what had happened. "If they're going to attack our ships, we need to make them work for it. It'll give us a better chance to respond." 

"With a fleet in the bay, we can't leave the island," Daenerys said with regret in her eyes. "I do hope your friends in the North are as honourable as you say, Lord Tyrion." 


	52. SANSA IX

There was something relieving about having so many women looking at her. She had called all the Lords to meet with her. Lord Royce, Lord Corbray, Ser Davos, and Lord Umber were there, as well as her brothers, but so was Lady Mormont, Lady Karstark, Lady Manderly, Jeyne, Arya, and Princess Shireen.

She considered Tyrion's letter again. It made her want to pace, it made her want to dismiss everyone so she could consider things without the pressure of being gawked at. 

It had come two days ago, and the second letter had arrived just that morning, as she'd been making her preparations to depart. 

They had landed on Dragonstone and Daenerys wanted Rickon's fealty. Which meant her fealty. 

The second letter had struck a markedly different tone. The Iron Fleet had allied with Cersei and the Blackwater Bay was impassable. Their intention of helping their shared allies in the Crownlands would be delayed…

Now, they needed help, not fealty. Sansa felt more comfortable with help. 

"Daenerys Targaryen has landed on Dragonstone. She intends to fight Cersei Lannister and wishes for the fealty of the High Lords," she said. "I will meet with her, as I promised you all I would, and I will bring to her my brother's plea for dragonglass as well." 

Jon nodded, grateful. He felt like her sword and shield, in a way, and she wondered if that was unfair to him. He had been a Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and he'd given it up to be a bastard boy looking after his ungrateful siblings once again… What could she do for him? 

"And the second letter, My Lady?" Lyanna Mormont asked, her mouth tight. 

"The Iron Fleet is in Blackwater Bay. Euron Greyjoy has thrown his lot in with Cersei Lannister in an attempt to usurp the rightful heir of Pyke, Asha Greyjoy," she said, reading Tyrion's words to the gathered group. "Queen Daenerys had meant to ferry her Unsullied to the Crownlands to relieve the Dornish and the Knights of the Reach of Cersei's attacks, but with the fleet in place, it seems impossible." 

"That also means it isn't safe for you to go," Jon said. 

"But I gave the Lords and Ladies of the North, and Lord Tyrion, my word that I would," she said. He was right, it wasn't safe, but she had to go. It didn't matter. She could find another way. "If you're right about these White Walkers, then we  _ have  _ to go. If Cersei is amassing new allies, we  _ have  _ to go. There is no scenario in which I do not travel south. My safety is not more important than the whole of the North's continued survival." 

Jon looked aggrieved, but offered no guidance. 

Everyone exchanged looks of concern or irritation as Sansa read the letters again. 

"My Lady, I...may have an idea," Princess Shireen said, her voice meek. 

She tried to sound encouraging. "Tell me." 

Leaning the scarred side of her face away from the increased scrutiny on her, Shireen tried to smile. "I...know your intention was to sail to Dragonstone from White Harbor, but what if we marched?" she asked. 

Sansa furrowed her eyebrows. "It would require an army when I had hoped to only travel with a few trusted --" 

Shireen nodded. "I know," she said. "But...well, those men who remain loyal to me because of my Father, and the Red God, they would quite like to march home, I think," she said, exchanging a look with Davos. "And the Knights of the Vale might, too, I thought. If the Southron Knights marched south with you, you could get a ship near the Bay of Crabs and sail the final length to Dragonstone. It would be a shorter trip, so the Greyjoys wouldn't have time to even realize who you were or where you were coming from before you'd land," she said. "But what's more...your Knights could march south and relieve the Dornish and the Knights of the Reach, and then return to their own Keeps to prepare for Winter without the threat of Cersei harrying them."

Sansa weighed this in her mind. If she marched south and helped Princess Arianne and Lady Olenna, she would no longer be indebted to them for their help getting north, and they would be behind her as she came to Daenerys's table, rather than behind Daenerys herself. She didn't want to go to Dragonstone with the notion that she needed allies, or that this was hostile, but she didn't want to go face a room full of people indebted to Queen Daenerys who would turn on her if the Targaryen demanded it. 

It wouldn't come to that, everyone said that Daenerys was good and kind. 

But it would free their allies.

"I do not think that helping our allies in the Crownlands will end whatever Cersei intends on doing to defeat us," she said in a measured voice. "But helping them is essential, and if Daenerys is unable to do it, then we must reflect on our strength and position. We will march south." 

The Northern Lords were the ones who seemed the unhappiest with this. 

"Lady Manderly, Lady Mormont, Lady Karstark," she said. "Lord Umber, my staunchest ally." She clasped her hands. "I will ask nothing of the Northern Lords at this time. This southern war is not for you to fight when there is a threat beyond the Wall that must be addressed." There was a murmur of relief and ascent. "Return to your Keeps, prepare them for what is to come. I will not march your sons or brothers south. Turn your eyes to the Wall and to Winter." 

"Who will rule Winterfell?" Lyanna demanded. 

"Jon Snow will be my brother's regent in my absence. He and Arya will rule wisely, I believe." She looked around. "We in the north have always been...perhaps not the best at making friends, especially not with Southerners, but in the Winter, we  _ need  _ friends." 

"The lone wolf dies," Arya said, quoting Father. "The pack survives." 

There was a murmur of agreement. 

"Princess Shireen, I would have you with me on the march," Sansa said. 

She balked. "I…" 

"Lady Sansa, begging your pardon, is that safe?" Ser Davos asked, looking dismayed. "This Dragon Queen --" 

"Needs to see she has a keen and clever ally in the Heir Apparent of the Iron Throne," Sansa said, a little curt. Shireen was the rightful heir to House Baratheon, no matter how much Arya's little friend looked like Robert. Sansa would be the more powerful player if an alternative to Daenerys existed. 

"And if she is unreasonable about the presence of a Baratheon?" Lady Melisandre asked, apparently sharing Davos's concern. "Perhaps your brother should go --" 

"Jon's place is in the north. And Shireen's place is Storm's End. I would not have it promised to some grasping upstart from the Reach when House Baratheon is such a loyal friend to House Stark. We will travel south, tell Queen Daenerys we have no intention for her throne, and you will be Lady of Storm's End. You will have saved her allies, she will at least grant you your Ancestral Seat." 

Sansa hoped that was how it happened, because the alternative was not something she wanted to think about. 

"We leave at dawn," she said. 

"I will send word to Salladhor Saan to meet us with one of his longships at Crackclaw Point," Ser Davos said. "We will part from the army at Maidenpool and continue with a smaller traveling party there and sail to Dragonstone." 

"A pincer maneuver, like my father did north of the Wall," Shireen said. "The Knights of the Vale can attack from the North, and the Riverlords will be able to come from the West, and Ser Gregor will be pinned in the middle." 

Sansa smiled. "Clever. Get your rest, Shireen. It will be a long march." 

As the Lords and Ladies left her, Sansa wrote a hurried message to Tyrion, handing it off to the Maester and then sighing into her hands. 

"It will be nice to see them again," Jeyne said, once they were alone. "Bronn, Tyrion, Ros." She paused with a wicked grin. "Podrick." 

Sansa bit her lip and looked to her friend. She felt as though Jeyne was always telling some sort of private joke when she mentioned Podrick. She wondered if she fancied him. It wouldn't be a bad match, but something about it made her feel...wrong. 


	53. BRIENNE IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss Diana Rigg so much I changed my initial plan for this chapter several months ago when she passed. i will say that her hot take on the state of things is not meant to be taken as truth, just thought it was a funny way to phrase it.

Arya had been keenly insistent, as Lady Sansa prepared for her journey south, that Brienne should join her sister, to keep her safe. 

"I trust you more than any of these people," Arya said with a wary glance. "So I'd like for you to keep them safe." She put her hand on the hilt of her little sword and gave Brienne a nod. "I'm safe with the Brotherhood and Jon, she is the one who needs allies." 

Brienne understood. As loathe as she was to leave Arya, who felt like the younger sister she'd always yearned for, she knew Sansa was going to dangerous places. She had failed Lady Catelyn, so she couldn't possibly risk failing Sansa. 

So at dawn she donned the armor Jaime had given her, Oathkeeper at her side, and left Winterfell with Sansa, the Lords of the Vale and the few Riverlands soldiers who had accompanied her north. 

Sandor saw them off with a gruff nod. "I'll look after things here." He cut his eyes towards Arya. She would be a handful, and they both knew it. "Keep the Little Bird safe, or I'll take your fucking head." 

She shoved him lightly. "And you keep an eye on Gendry."

Arya and the lad were certainly close, and the privacy afforded to them by the castle walls offered no comfort. 

He laughed.

Now the march south had begun in earnest. Lord Reed let them through the Neck when they arrived a week into their journey, and they turned east as they crossed the Red Fork, the Twins ruled by an older Frey woman who hosted and feasted them happily, and Edmure's remaining fighting men joined their numbers. They kept south to the Crossroads Inn for another brief stop.

Hot Pie, the helpful young baker, was overjoyed to see them, even when Sansa sternly told him to ride north immediately for his own safety. He didn't seem to take her seriously, but bowed with a solemn look on his face as he left her and Jeyne with an extra helping of gravy. 

"Randyll Tarly was holding Maidenpool when I passed through here to get to the Vale," she said to Sansa the morning they prepared to leave the Twins. Their small traveling party would strike out east towards Crackclaw Point, where the Lyseni pirates would await them. 

A carriage rolled up to them as the horses were brought around from the stables in the back. 

When it creaked to a stop, the door opened and out stepped Margaery Tyrell, looking as regal and Queenly as she had the day at Bitterbridge, when Brienne had bested her brother. Her time imprisoned and her time at war had not dampened her poise, at least. Her Grandmother followed. 

"We weren't expecting you, Lady Olenna, Lady Margaery," Sansa said with a graceful curtsy. Jeyne followed suit and Brienne bowed her head respectfully. 

"Well, Lord Randyll got in my grandson's ear about how perhaps Dragonstone would be a valuable place for us to be," she groused. "It would be removed from the war and we could get a read on this Dragon Queen we're meant to commit men to." 

Margaery tried to soften Olenna's contempt with a smile. "Willas and Garlan believed perhaps the further from Cersei we were the better off we would be," she explained. "It has been brought to Cersei's attention that Grandmother may have had a hand in Joffrey's death, so her wrath is...something to behold, the rumours say." 

Brienne was shocked by how bluntly she said it, as if Kingslaying weren't such a grievous crime. But...well. Joffrey had been a monster, just as Aerys had been, and she found herself not feeling a lot of grief for him in that moment. 

"Well, we're happy for you to join our march," Sansa said. 

"Truthfully I think Willas wanted to be rid of us," Olenna said in a false whisper, leaning over to Sansa and Jeyne. "I think he fancies Princess Snake." 

Sansa smiled. "She is worthy of him."

"Oh, Sansa. She would be a fool to give up her birthright for a sweet boy with a lame foot," Olenna said, patting her on the cheek.

Brienne felt oddly sad at the thought; caring for someone who had such pressure on them that the idea of them returning the feeling was ridiculous. She tried to shake it off. She focused on their travels. It was a small group of them, and the road would be perilous. 

It was good fortune that got them to Maidenpool in good time, and Randyll Tarly greeted them with his usual frosty formality. They supped with Randyll, but did not speak much to him of their plans. 

Ser Loras had come as escort to his sister and grandmother, and he regarded Princess Shireen with disdain all through their ride.

Brienne understood. Stannis had killed their King, and as odd as it was to march behind the girl, she was not guilty of her Father's crimes, and Brienne hoped that Loras saw that. A girl of 14 and Renly's only trueborn niece was not their enemy. 

"I don't understand why we're marching with a Baratheon to swear fealty to a Targaryen," he griped after they are, away from the cold eyes of Randyll Tarly. 

"Shireen wants to assure Queen Daenerys of her cooperation in this conflict. Cersei is our mutual enemy, and Shireen has no royal ambitions. But Cersei would take her birthright for one of her sycophants or her bastard born daughter, and we can't lose the Stormlands to her," Sansa said, a little prickly. To hear Sansa say it, she'd quite fancied Loras once, but now she regarded him a little cooler. "Storm's End belonged to Renly and Shireen is his last trueborn relative." 

"Stop your glaring, Loras, our loyalties would not be so tested if you'd thought with your brain instead of your cock once in the past five years," Lady Olenna said with her characteristic bluntness. Loras blushed and winced. 

"Grandmother!" Margaery scolded before letting out a reluctant giggle. 

"Oh, grand ambitions of Margaery becoming Queen… surely that was it, wasn't it?" Olenna leaned over and addressed Brienne with a cheeky grin. "No, it all comes down to cocks."

Jeyne and Sansa were not as abashed as Brienne felt. 

"My son has never had a thought that better men hadn't had before. Loras wanted an excuse to live at court so he could bugger Renly whenever he'd like, so he cooked up a plan to bring Margaery to sway King Robert. His cock led him down that path, just as Robert's cock led him onto the horns of a boar and the jaws of a lion. Jaime Lannister's cock sent Ned Stark crowing about incest and bastards." 

She waved a hand. "If you hadn't put it in Renly's head he deserved to be King, we could have ended this war years ago. Ned Stark wanted to back Stannis. I didn't care for the man but he was Robert's rightful heir, and more of a military commander than your fathead father or Renly ever was." She snorted. "Your cock and the Baratheon's inflated heads turned brother against brother. If you'd not crowned the boy, he would've been the heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Stannis had no sons, he only had Renly and a daughter. Margaery would've been queen after a fashion, instead of not at all."

Brienne, who had spent so many years hating Stannis Baratheon and didn't think it likely she'd ever stop, considered this. He wouldn't have been as worthy of a King as Renly, but living under the thumb of Cersei, with a fractured Kingdom, had to be worse… Renly could have been King in his time. The world would have been better off.

It was easy to say that now, but back then it hadn't seemed so clear. 

Maybe it  _ was  _ all cocks.

She snorted with laughter as she made her way to the chambers she'd been shown to in the little keep. Margaery slipped beside her as she walked. 

"My grandmother can be so vulgar," she said apologetically.

"She's not wrong, though," Brienne agreed, allowing Margaery to loop her arm in hers. "I think about how different things would be if choices had changed. It's too late I suppose."

Margaery nodded. "It's all about choices. We were heading to Riverrun and chose to come here and join you. I'm glad for that choice, I think." She grinned at Brienne, who felt a little flush at the attention. 

"What changed your mind?"

"Lord Randyll mentioned to my father that it may be best to have one of our own people represent our interests to Queen Daenerys. He doesn't trust Lady Sansa or Lord Tyrion." 

Because he's a monster, Brienne though, remembering Randyll's stern, cold face with a shiver. 

"And he sent for Lady Olenna and not your father or brother?" she asked, feeling an odd prickle of intuition. 

"He didn't ask for her, she insisted that Father was needed on the frontlines," Margaery said, innocent of Brienne's sudden suspicion. 

"Randyll has known Olenna for a long time, correct?" 

"All their lives. Lady Brienne -- what are you --"

"Riverrun is a safer place for you and your Grandmother, but Lord Randyll brought you here under the guise of going to Dragonstone, where you'd be in danger," she said slowly. "He knew your Grandmother would leave Mace and Willas in the field. I -- I know Lord Randyll has been a loyal bannerman for a long time but I suspect he may have some ulterior purposes for wanting a Tyrell lord here."

Margaery realized it as Brienne said it. "What do we do?"

"Go tell your Grandmother that we're leaving at midnight," she said. "I'll fetch Davos and the Ladies."

Margaery nodded, turning back to return to Olenna's chambers. Brienne found the tiny side hall where Davos had been shunted. 

"Ser Davos," she hissed. 

The Red Woman opened the door. Brienne still found herself unnerved by her presence, despite their terse alliance. 

"We need to leave," she said, slipping into the room where Davos was sitting by a candle, reading a scroll. "This is a trap. Lord Randyll means to seize Lady Olenna or Lady Sansa. I believe to give to Cersei." 

He was a rigid, honorable man. Betraying the crown was not his way. Of course he had turned on the Tyrells. 

Davos looked shocked.

"We'll leave when the castle sleeps. We cannot linger and find out what Randyll plans for us," she said. 

"Very well spotted, Brienne," the Red Woman said, looking troubled. "I'd had visions in the flames of a hunter leading a golden party through woods. I couldn't make sense of it...now...it makes sense."

"The striding huntsman of House Tarly, and perhaps the gold of House Lannister?" Brienne said, and Melisandre nodded, but Davos held up a hand.

"I think in this case we can be a touch more literal.  _ A Golden Company _ ."

"Sellswords?"

"With the promised wealth of Highgarden, it wouldn't be out of reach," he said. "Fetch the little Ladies. We cannot delay."

Jeyne, Sansa and Shireen shared a chamber, and she could hear them giggling behind the door. She knocked softly and entered. 

"Brienne, what is it?" Sansa asked, taking in her solemn face.

She shut the door. "Lord Randyll means to betray us. We leave at midnight. Ser Davos thinks Cersei is bringing the Golden Company to supplement her armies. Pack your things and prepare."

Sansa looked shocked and disheartened.

"We'll be in Dragonstone soon. At least you know you have friends there."

It didn't take long to gather their scant traveling party. Sneaking from the keep in the night proved simple, though as they got out of sight of Maidenpool she could hear distant alarms and barks of dogs. The carriage was unwieldy on stony, mountainous roads, but they would be able to abandon it closer to the point. It let them travel with fewer horses, keeping the ladies and Loras inside, with she and Davos riding beside it. 

As the river widened and widened, the sea coming inland, she felt herself breathe easier for the first time in nearly a day of hard riding. 

Salladhor Saan awaited them on the dawn of the next day. An old fisherman gaped at the pirate ships, but a resplendent carriage and a handful of horses was enough to buy his silence as they boarded. 

As the Lyseni ship smoothly sailed from the rocky shores, Brienne saw the fleet.

Huge ships with towering flags emblazoned with a kraken bearing a red eye bore down on their single ship, but seemed to pay them no notice as they turned eastward and the Iron Fleet turned westward. 

"I wish I'd had time to send a raven to Arianne," Sansa said. "They're expecting the Ironborn on the coast and the crownlands, not from the north…"

"Our reinforcements will help them. We can get a message to them as soon as we land and pray it isn't too late," Jeyne said, squeezing her friend's hand. 

Brienne put her arm around their shoulders and pulled them in. They were safe, even though things seemed fire, she was relieved she had been able to keep her promise this time. 


	54. ARYA VII

Arya missed Brienne. She missed having someone to spar with who wasn't scared of hurting her, or too honourable to spar with her. Lyanna was a little younger than her, so she wasn't as handy with a sword. The Free Folk would fight with her, and she had learned how to handle a spear, but the Northerners didn't like many of them inside the walls of Winterfell for long stretches, and she needed to be inside to help Jon. 

Sansa was more adept at ruling. Without the southron lords, the Northerners were content to do as they pleased, which aligned with Jon's desires fairly well, but he was still afraid of messing things up.

"Sansa did so much to get back here, and to help us take back Winterfell," Jon despaired. "I never wanted to rule it all." 

"It's only for a little while," she pointed out. "Sansa will be back to help us soon." 

Jon looked skeptical. He was worried for her. Arya understood. The South had not been kind to the Starks, but Sansa had gone as far south as south goes and she'd survived. She'd thrived. It was best that she had gone, and not Jon. Jon had too much of Ned in him, like she did. They would be safe here, preparing for a threat they only barely understood. 

The Umbers had gone to fortify Last Hearth. Alys and her Karstarks had stayed, concerned Karhold may not be the safest place for them. They had sent men to warn the smallfolk and the mountain families. 

There was a knock on the door. 

"Come in," Jon said, weary. 

Gendry stuck his head in and smiled in Arya's direction. She felt a little warm. She wished Sansa or even Jeyne were here to explain to her why she felt like a fool around Gendry all of a sudden, but they'd gone, and Lyanna had less interest or experience with that sort of thing than she did. 

"I've gotten the forges prepared like you asked, Jon," he said, straightening up. "The wild -- the Free Folk have been asking for things again, and I'd be happy to make them, but I figured I'd let you decide if we use what steel we have…" 

Jon stood from his table. "I'll go talk with Tormund about it," he said. 

"I can join you," Arya said.

"M'lady, I was actually wondering if you'd look at something with me for a moment," Gendry said, respectful but maybe a little presumptuous. 

Jon raised an eyebrow, and then shook his head and shrugged. 

On the road, Brienne and Sandor had watched her like a hawk, and they hadn't trusted the Brotherhood much at first, which meant they hadn't trusted Gendry. Now that things had slowed down, their time together felt less...observed. Was it stupid to hope he felt the same weird heat in his face over her? 

It was probably stupid. 

"All right," she said. 

Jon disappeared first, heading towards the forge where Mikken had made her Needle and where a gaggle of new men were busy preparing for the coming storm. 

Gendry and Arya walked a different way, and Gendry reached into his pocket and pulled out a tattered piece of parchment, opening it up. "I'm not as good at drawing as I am at forging so," he said apologetically as she took it. 

The design was skinny, like her, but more like a spear than a sword. She had doodled something like it the other night at supper, and maybe he'd noticed. 

"Oh, that's...I think I'd like that," she said, her ears turning red. 

"Good," he said, relieved. "And I was going to ask you --" 

They stopped in the hallway, looking at each other, both of them strangely nervous. "Are you...gonna fight? If the White Walkers come?" 

She snorted, her revere broken. "Duh." 

He smiled, and laughed. "I...just be safe, all right?" 

Arya reached out and put a hand on his arm. "You too, okay?" They were staring at each other again, and she wasn't entirely sure what they were doing, but then one of the guards rushed up. 

"Lady Arya, there's someone at the gates claiming to know you --" he said in a rushed voice, stopping short when he noticed Gendry. "Sorry, Ser Gendry. Lady Arya." 

She hated being called Lady Arya, but Sansa insisted she didn't fight people on it. The people who knew her understood, and that was all that mattered. It took too much energy to correct everyone all the time, even as strong as the urge was. 

So they followed to guard to the front gates, and standing there, in a brown robe, dismounting from a tired looking horse, was…

_ Hot Pie?  _

"Arry! I mean. M'lady…"

"Arry is fine," she said, running up and giving Hot Pie a hug. She hadn't known what she'd expected, but this hadn't been it. "What are you doing here?" 

"Your sister, the Lady. Sanda?"

"Sansa."

"Lady Sansa, and her pretty friend, they said to come north. That I'd be welcome, if I wanted to get away from the war," he said, suddenly unsure as he looked at her. He'd gotten much taller than her in the years they'd been apart. Not as tall as Gendry, but much taller than her. She'd be short forever, like Jon. 

"Of course. You're always welcome here," she said. "You've got to come meet my brother. Beric and Thoros are here, too," she said, looping her arm through Hot Pie's elbow and pulling him into the gate. Gendry clapped a hand on Hot Pie's broad shoulder. "And the Hound, too."

Hot Pie looked stricken. "What is he doing here?" 

"He's our friend now," Arya said. "He saved me from Littlefinger -- you know. It's a really long story, maybe we should just have some dinner." 

He stopped walking for a second, looking back towards the gate. "Wait, I...had some travel companions that were a little behind me," he said. 

Arya stared at the open gate, not knowing what to expect. 

"Yeah, I got a bit lost on my way up here. The north is really, really big, you know? I ended up going too far north, but I bumped into some folks heading for Winterfell and they got me all sorted. Nice folks, especially the girl --" He was breathless in his explanation. 

Alys had mentioned sending some of her more vulnerable smallfolk to the larger and better fortified Winterfell, maybe that's who he meant? 

A man all in black walked through the gate first, a sour look on his young face. A girl with curly hair and a spear strapped across her back followed. A wildling, maybe? But they were pulling a cart behind them, another black brother pushing it.

And on the cart was _Bran_. 

Arya gaped.

Bran looked up at her with the faintest hint of a smile. "Where is Jon? I need to speak with him." 

She turned, ready to go fetch him, but he was already crossing the yard. 

"Edd?" he asked of the black brother, before he saw Bran. "What are --" 

"Delivering something important, I reckon," Edd said in a dreary voice. "Bout all I'm good for." 

Jon dropped to Bran's side and hugged him, tightly. "I thought you were dead." 

"Jon, we'll all be dead if we don't talk about what's beyond the wall."

Arya and Jon exchanged a sharp look, and he nodded at their brother, calling on the guards to help them inside and relieve them of their burdens. 

The war for the dawn was beginning, Arya thought. She was ready. Wasn't she?


	55. JEYNE IX

Dragonstone loomed in the distance. They had sailed wide, trying to avoid the Iron Fleet as it harried Crackclaw Point. Olenna was seething with anger at Randyll Tarly's betrayal. Jeyne's mind wandered to Tyene. Was she all right? 

Olenna had immediately recalled Mace and his men to Highgarden to defend the castle from any insurrection. Sansa was worried at how much that would weaken their position in the Crownlands, but it was necessary. 

Once they united with Daenerys, the Unsullied and Dothraki would greatly outnumber Cersei. But they were in a foreign land, against armored knights. She wondered how different that would be for them.

And Cersei had the Golden Company, now, and most of the Iron Fleet, and Randyll Tarly, who everyone said was a great General. 

Jeyne didn't have a mind for strategy, so she left the worrying to Ser Davos and Sansa. 

They rowed their small boat to the shore of the island, where a familiar looking old knight greeted them, flanked by a handful of Unsullied. 

Sansa curtsied. "Ser Barristan, it's good to see you looking well."

"Lady Sansa. An honour, as always," he said, bowing and kissing her offered hand. "Davos Seaworth," he said with a bit of gruffness. His eyes were on Jeyne for a moment. He recognized her, but she wasn't sure she'd ever made an introduction. A steward's daughter didn't need to introduce themself to Barristan the Bold, after all. 

"This is Lady Jeyne Poole, my dear friend and attendant," Sansa said. "And with us also is Lady Shireen of House Baratheon, and the Lady Melisandre, of Asshai."

His eyes were darker when he looked over the Red Priestess.

Their second small boat landed a moment later. 

"Lady Olenna, allow me to help you," Ser Barristan said graciously, reaching for Olenna's hand as Brienne took the other one. 

"Oh, please, Ser Barristan, a strapping young lad such as yourself --" she said with a keen smile, stepping into the sand delicately, followed by Loras and Margaery. 

"Brienne of Tarth, and Ser Loras Tyrell, and Lady Margaery Tyrell," Olenna said in her typically dismissive fashion. "This is a fine place for introductions, but I could use a drink." 

In the Great Hall of Dragonstone, they stood in a line, all of their eyes affixed to Queen Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, as the girl to her right recited titles and victories. Too long to remember them all, and Jeyne's attention was on the beautiful woman sitting there, a tentative smile on her face. 

Quentyn Martell stood to her right, and Tyrion to her left. Barristan and the young man in leather armor stood behind her wooden throne.

"It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Queen Daenerys," Sansa said with a graceful curtsy. "I am Lady Sansa of House Stark, Regent for Lord Rickon Stark, who sends his regards. I also come on behalf of my Uncle, the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, and my cousin Lord Robin Arryn, future Warden of the East," she said, trying to bolster her own titles in the face of Daenerys's impressive pedigree. 

Daenerys smiled a little wider.

"With me now is my attendant, Lady Jeyne of House Poole," she said. "Lord Davos Seaworth, Lady Melisandre, a Red Priestess of Asshai. Brienne of Tarth, Lady Olenna of House Tyrell, Ser Loras Tyrell, Lady Margaery Tyrell, and Lady Shireen Baratheon, the Rightful Heir to Storm's End." 

She raised an eyebrow, delicate and humorous. "I must say, I find it a bold strategy for you to bring the last true born Baratheon to me. The Usurper killed my brother, and stole my father's throne for himself." 

"Shireen hadn't even been born during the Rebellion. She is Stannis's rightful heir, that is true, but she has no need for the throne. Her birthright is Storm's End," she said primly, and forcefully. She had brought Shireen as a test. If Daenerys was a worthy ruler, she would accept this. If she was so threatened by a girl who had been a Princess for a summer… She would not be worth kneeling to. 

"If that is truly your desire, Lady Shireen, I can accept that. I will not hold people to account for the sins of their fathers. My own father was evil, and I know this. I am trying to be different. We all must try to do better than those before us."

Shireen curtsied. "I'm glad to hear that, Queen Daenerys. I...I was born here on Dragonstone, just as you were," she said. "But House Baratheon belongs in the Stormlands." 

Daenerys smiled. "And we will take it back. It's my understanding that Cersei has tried to offer it to her daughter to bring her back from Dorne. Prince Quentyn is skeptical of it working. Myrcella is a sweet girl, he says. She loves Dorne." 

Jeyne looked around the throne room, distracted from the discussions of the war trying to see Bronn, or Ros. It was a silly feeling. She was no longer a little girl, but now she felt like one, like a little girl lost in a tourney crowd, looking for her father, who wasn't there.

"What is it you want, Lady Sansa, in exchange for the men you have sent to my aid in the Crownlands?" she asked.

"Beneath Dragonstone there are Obsidian Mines," she said. "We believe there is a growing threat beyond the Wall. White Walkers, they're called, or the Others." Jeyne looked to Sansa as she steeled herself to say something that sounded, to all of them, objectively ridiculous. "My brother has seen them, in his time in the Night's Watch. Beasts made of ice who wake men from the dead."

Daenerys's kind face looked skeptical now. "So all you want is a relatively valueless rock from under this castle?" 

"And your help, when the time comes, to fight the White Walkers. They are weak to fire and their numbers vastly overshadow any single army of Westeros, even the North and all the Free Folk combined." 

She didn't necessarily believe them, Jeyne could tell. "When will that be?" 

Sansa shook her head. "I don't know. They're beyond the Wall. Lady Melisandre and my brother agree that if they get past the Wall, they will roll over everyone and everything. They are hard to kill. They seek a way around the Wall. If we could stop them before they find it --" 

Daenerys raised a hand. "I have no objection to your mining operation, but I will not send my armies north to assail some unknown threat and allow Cersei to take more of Westeros," she said. "My fight is here."

Sansa looked to Jeyne, who didn't know exactly what to say. 

"Well then, your Grace, we had better help you win the Throne with haste," Davos said after a pause. "She'll try to take Highgarden, she's in debt to the Iron Bank and has certainly made promises, and the wealth of the Seven Kingdoms is in the south." 

Daenerys stood. "We will speak strategy after you have rested and been fed. I won't allow you to return home and say I was inhospitable. Ser Podrick, can you show the young ladies to where they'll be staying?" 

" _ Ser _ Podrick?" she said, arching a meaningful eyebrow at Sansa, who looked at her with a frown. 

And it certainly was Podrick Payne, though a weatherbeaten, bearded, and more muscular version of the stuttering young boy they'd known. 

"Knighted by Barristan the Bold himself," Tyrion said as he joined them, leaving the Great Hall. He winked at Jeyne and Sansa when he said it, and Jeyne couldn't help but giggle.

Jeyne had always suspected Sansa of having a passing fancy for Podrick, but now it was...well. Obvious. 

"Lord Tyrion, where is my knightly father? I thought he'd be here to greet me," she joked.

She thought it had been funny, but Tyrion's smile faded slightly, and Podrick looked a little aggrieved too. 

"Ser Bronn is organizing the defenses with the Greyjoys, I'm sure he'll be down to say hello before we eat," Tyrion said. "I'll let Ser Podrick show you the rest of the way, this is my door and I'd like to avoid stairs." He broke off at the landing.

"Did you enjoy Meereen, Podrick?" Jeyne asked, sidling up next to him and clasping her hands in front of her, the picture of innocence. 

"It was hot," he said. "I'm glad to be back in Westeros, in the company of my friends," he continued, and he even sounded more confident. "I heard tell of your exploits from the others, and Lady Sansa, I have to say, the way you turned the tide of the war and saved the north...it's...most impressive." The stutter had come back a little, now. 

Jeyne saw it. Did Sansa see it?

"Here are your rooms, my ladies. I'll see you at dinner." 

"Yes you will," Jeyne said with a little smile, shutting the door as he turned down the hall. She was shocked to find Sansa looking a little sour. "What?" 

"Nothing. Podrick's certainly...grown up a bit, hasn't he?" she asked.

"He has," she agreed with a grin, which seemed to irritate Sansa more.

"I may nap for supper, do you want to join me?" 

Jeyne considered it, but echoing through the stone halls she heard the faintest tune…

_ High in the halls of the kings who are gone… _

"I'll see you before supper," she said. "I should go speak to Bronn." 

Sansa finally smiled, and Jeyne turned and left the room, listening to find the direction of the faint singing. 

_ And she never wanted to leave… _

Down the steps, and out onto a landing overlooking the sea, she saw the lanky form, all dressed in black, of Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, watching her as she ran towards him. He didn't smile, but he held out his arms in expectation of her hug. 

She jumped, he caught her. 

"I heard you conquered Westeros, daughter."

"I heard you conquered Slaver's Bay, father," she shot back with a laugh, trying to hide the tears pricking her eyes. He'd tease her for crying. 


End file.
